King
by BobTeBattlin'Barbarian
Summary: A new version of the story of Michalis of Macedon, and his attempted conquest of the world. Plays fast and loose with the game plot. Features Minerva, Maria Camus, Jeorge, and Palla, as well as Marth.


Michalis panted softly, rolling his shoulders back and lowering himself into a crouch. Nude to the waist and wearing only a white knee length wrap, sweat dripped down lithe, deeply tanned muscles. A bead rolled down his forehead, the midday sun beating down steadily, heavily. Akhille stood facing him at the other end of the roped off section of sandy training ground, posture relaxed and bordering on arrogant, wild blonde curls falling across his shoulders. Slightly taller than Michalis and somewhat broader across the shoulders, scars crisscrossed his chest and limbs, far more than on Michalis', some remarkably deep. He lacked, however, the massive burn in the center of Michalis' chest, a curved claw or fang, halfway between brand and tattoo. Akhille was a great warrior, but he lacked the will to be part of that order. A bronze training spear was carried loosely in one hand, the tip approximately the same weight as a true spear tip, but dulled and blunted. Michalis went unarmed, fists clenching and unclenching in anticipation. They had both paused their bout, catching their breaths and drawing out the thrill of contest.

Grand marble columns supported an awning brightly decorated with frescoes of gods and legends that wrapped around the edges of the training grounds. A fair number of people had gathered in the shade there, watching the match. Unsurprising- any contest involving the king and one of the kingdom's finest would be sure to attract attention. Michalis paid heed to only a few; the rest were irrelevant. They were his subjects, after all. Most would only be there to curry favor. But he didn't care for the audience, only the fight itself.

Only three made up any sort of audience that actually mattered. Camus, at the left end of the grounds watched intently, standing stiff and straight backed, as if he were at attention, even watching a match that was, supposedly, purely for fun or machismo. Hard eyed, thin lipped, and statuesque, he cut his curly brown hair in a formal style and still wore the garb of a western knight. It would be stifling in this heat, but Michalis knew it hardly mattered to him. His lance, an elegant construction of silvery metal and decorated with precious gems, was gripped tightly and his taut stance was constantly ready for a fight. Only the most foolish assassin would try something so deep inside the palace, but that, too, hardly mattered to Camus.

On the other side of the grounds lounged Jeorge, lying lean and elegant across a long couch brought in to watch the match, resting on one elbow and carrying a glass of wine in that hand, the other lying across his side. The top half of his two piece wrap, checkered red and black and lined with white fur, covered only his shoulders and upper torso, exposing rippling muscle. A subtle reminder that the seemingly hedonistic man was in fact a deadly warrior when he wished to be, although Michalis doubted that was why he did it. Some foppish busty woman sat next to him, holding to his arm gently. His bow, golden colored and faintly glowing, leaned against the couch, near as tall as he was. He favored the lady with a lascivious smile then turned his gaze to Michalis, winking and tossing him a grape from the bunch by his arm.

"Good luck," he called out, voice as always smooth and honey-sweet.

"I won't need it," Michalis replied calmly, flicking the grape from the air and rocking on the balls of his feet.

"Foolish," Camus muttered, loud enough to audible, shaking his head slightly.

Akhille cocked his head to one side, still grinning. "Are you finally ready milord? Or are you starting to have doubts?"

Michalis did not reply, instead shooting a glance at the final member of what he considered his audience. His sister, Minerva, leaned against one of the pillars, arms folded. Lithe, almost willowy, in many ways she was Michalis' twin, though she had been born nearly two years after. Aside from a slightly softer jawline, a few slight extra curves to her frame, and the fact that she wore her dark red hair tied in twin braids instead of leaving it loose, the two of them were identical. She wore the dark red and olive robes of their family over the light style of armor favored by soldiers of these hot environs, and carried the customary spear and oblong shield. Underneath her breastplate, Michalis knew, was the same half brand, half tattoo, claw-like mark, and strapped to her back she carried a weapon unique to that order, a savage, long handled, double headed war axe. A weapon designed for fighting from dragonback.

Palla, a soldier of the Whitewings and Minerva's personal attendant and bodyguard, stood to her side and slightly behind, dressed too in typical soldier's garb, white robes instead of red and olive, with a pair of wings embossed and painted on her breastplate. Not a small woman, she looked so next to Minerva, barely reaching her chest. Her features were calm, pleasant, and, for a soldier, unusually girlish. Technically a fourth member, but Michalis generally considered the Whitewings to be a mere attachment to his sister. Particularly that one- she seemed especially devoted to her duty. Vaguely like Camus, he mused silently, if in all other regards an opposite.

Minerva met his eyes, her own sharing the same fierce tint to her gaze, with an expression he couldn't quite fathom. After a moment she nodded, almost reluctant.

Akhille glanced her too, his grin changing in a way that began a low growl, inaudible to anyone more than a foot away, in Michalis' throat. The bead of sweat dropped from brow to mouth, and he licked it away, tasting it, sour, rank, _sweet_. Not half so much as blood, but still sweet enough. His heart began to sing and thud, and a slight smile twitched at the corners of his mouth, eyes burning fire-bright and savage.

He charged, leaping forward, still half crouched down. Akhille swept with the haft of his spear, aiming at Michalis' head, but he ducked under, lashing out with one long muscular arm and catching his wrist, iron grip keeping him from moving away. Carrying on forwards, fingers splayed wide he planted his other hand on his foe's chest, pulling him in with one arm, pushing him up with the second, lifting him overhead and tossing him to the ground, the whole movement fluid and seamlessly instantaneous.

"No doubts," he said, the smile spreading wider as he crouched once again, facing his opponent. "Never any doubts for a king."

Akhille made no reply, grunting and thrusting his spear forward. Michalis dodged to the side, but not quite fast enough, the tip catching his cheek. If it had been a real spear he would have been left with a painful, though bearable, cut. Another growl loosed from his throat, louder this time, guttural. What a foolish mistake. The momentary distraction let Akhille land another two blows, one to the side with the haft of the spear, bruising a rib, the other a fist to a chest. He had a punch like a charging bull; quick and powerful, but -Michalis grinned to himself- hard to steer and leaving him open. Michalis kept his balance, rolling with the blows. The pain was nothing, and a quick succession of punches caught Akhille off guard. Clearly he expected his own blows to stun Michails more.

He did not keep his balance half so well as Michalis had, and he took the opportunity to press the fight closer. It would be harder to dodge Akhille's blows which were, in truth, more powerful, but his spear would be useless at the same time. Indeed, he dropped it after a moment and they traded blows for a minute, each trying to get the other to be vulnerable enough to be placed into a hold and pinned.

Michalis found that opportunity first, grabbing a solid hold on his wrist once again, locking arms tightly, slamming into him and raining blows with his other hand to keep him off balance, leaving him stunned enough to twist his arm behind his was a faint pop, and Akhille gasped in pain. Out of the corner of his eye Michalis noticed the attention of the crowd grow closer, some raising their hands to begin to clap. Every fighter in the crowd would recognize that as a finishing blow, and possibly one to incapacitate Akhille for days. Akhille was well known for his arrogant attitude; despite his skill, it wasn't hard to imagine why someone might hold a grudge. Whatever point the king intended to make, they thought, he had made.

Michalis kicked the back of his knee, forcing him to kneel.

They were wrong.

He forced Akhille down farther, until he lay prone on the ground, putting him in a tight headlock, knee pressing against his spine. His arms and legs were not pinned, but he was trapped regardless.

Silence followed from the crowd.

The headlock tightened into a chokehold and Akhille's struggles grew more panicked, desperate.

Murmuring arose in the crowd, rapidly becoming frantic, but a few- Michalis' real audience- moved in subtle ways to stop them moving forward.

Michalis held his foe pinned down, his resistance eventually becoming weaker and weaker. He could keep him here indefinitely, as long as he needed, but choking was an inefficient way to kill a man. He pulled up sharply with his arms, knee digging firmer into his back, straining briefly before two loud cracks rang out. Michalis let go, and Akhille fell limp.

He rose, turning his gaze around the crowd, now stunned back into silence. For a moment he was silent, fists clenching and unclenching, staring at the ground, chest rising and falling in deep, slow breaths.

More sweat rolled down his face, his shoulders, a few drops running to the ground. No blood, the cracked bones contained within unbroken skin.

No blood. Shame.

MIchalis shook his head, a subtle shudder to his next breath. That was not the point of this.

At last he straightened, looked around the crowd once again. "Do not anger me," he said plainly, eyes still burning. None of the usual foolish noble lords and ladies approached him afterwards.

"Why?" Camus asked sharply, marching up to him after most of the rest of the crowd had gone. 'Why must you lose control like this once again?"

"I did not lose control. I never do. Every action I take has purpose," Michalis replied flatly, fidgeting and stretching, not meeting his bodyguard's gaze. The adrenaline of the match, the undeniable thrill of the fight, fled quickly after it ended. It left a strange hollowness in his bones, the world seeming dull. Such a strange affliction. Curse and boon, at once, to be driven towards conflict. It made things easier, at times, in such a harsh world, with the weight of kingship on his shoulders. And he loved the thrill, the sweetness of blood. He would be that honest with himself, at least, admitting that he felt the thrill of war and contest all too keenly. But at the same time he would not allow himself to become a madman. He clinged to that determination, with everything.

"This was not purposeless, Camus. Trust me on this." He looked into the knight's eyes, stern and vaguely disappointed.

"Then what was its purpose, milord?" he demanded, not harshly, but firmly.

"You are my subject, Camus," he replied, reaching up to one shoulder and rubbing the tension out. "I don't have to answer you."

"Yes," Camus nodded. "True. But I thought I had earned more of your respect than that, milord."

Michalis went quiet for a moment, shutting his eyes. "Yes, Camus. You have taught me well and I owe you for that. You do have my respect. But you must trust that I have a purpose all the same."

"It seems I've taught you very little," Camus answered with a tinge of bitterness, "Less than I thought, at least."

"Do not blame yourself. I was trained to fight from the moment I could hold a weapon. There was little anyone could teach me, by the time you came here."

"That is not what I meant milord," he said, seeming to consider his words carefully. "There is more to being a knight than knowing how to fight."

"Etiquette you mean?" Michalis let the contempt drip freely from his voice. "Codes of conduct and manners? What use is that to a man such as myself?"

"Perhaps I should leave then," Camus replied, almost off handedly. Michalis shot him a sharp look, and he continued, "if I have no more to teach you, or you have no need of my services."

"You would not do that," Michalis said calmly. "You wouldn't abandon those you serve. It is not your nature."

"True," the knight admitted, voice going soft. "But you could dismiss me all the same, milord."

"And I would not do that," said Michalis. "You have taught me well, Camus, even if you have not taught me everything that you would like. I am… not the man I might have been." He chuckled bitterly. "Be proud that I am least not worse."

Camus pursed his lips, sighing. "As you say, milord. I will not question you any further about today. I trust that you have your reasons."

Michalis nodded, falling quiet for a moment and continuing to rub the tension from his muscles. "I want to be strong," he said at last. "That is what I must do what I do."

"You did not need to kill him to prove your strength. You already have, to the kingdom and the world. I truly fear that you may be losing control, milord."

"It is not your place to tell me what to do," Michalis remarked, without ire.

"It rather is this time, milord. It is my job to keep you safe. You are a mighty warrior, true, so you do not need my protection so much physically. But there are other possible dangers."

"What do you mean?"

"That if your subjects lose faith in your ability to rule well, you may lose the throne. Whether or not you have in fact lost control, it does not matter if they _believe_ you do."

"I am doing this for the throne. You say I don't need to prove that I am strong? Perhaps. Then let me instead prove that I am _strongest_. In all things. On the battlefield, in mind, in body, as king. Macedon was once far, far greater than it is, ten times the size it is now, richer in land and wealth and culture by a degree we can scarcely understand. I cannot content myself to be merely a king. I must be _the_ king."

"That is an ambitious goal, milord."

"Yes. If I do not put my drive towards something then I will tear myself apart." He straightened, some of the soreness now faded, and faced the knight head on. "Do you support me, Camus?"

"In all things, milord." He bowed slightly. "It will be a painful endeavor, you understand."

"Of course." Michalis stretched again, the brand on his chest standing out. "But I must believe that great things can come of pain."

Camus nodded, making no reply.

A moment later Jeorge sauntered over, the woman still hanging from his arm. "A fine match milord," he smiled lazily. "You certainly know how to raise the stakes. I'm interested to see what you'll come up with next time. Three men, perhaps, or a dragon."

"I didn't know you were still here," Michalis remarked.

The archer shrugged. "Your conversation seemed awfully serious and I decided I'd rather not involve myself. But now that it's over I thought I'd offer congratulations."

"You shouldn't encourage this," Camus snapped.

Jeorge merely shrugged again. "Oh, I'd rather not argue about that. Agree to disagree, shall we say?"

Camus sniffed, but made no further comment. "Are you going to introduce us to your new companion?" he asked.

"I suppose I can but it'd hardly be worth it. She'll be gone in a few days." He chuckled, planting a kiss on her cheek. Camus blinked in surprise as she returned the kiss, seemingly nonplussed by the remark.

"If you're honest from the start there's rarely an issue," Jeorge said, catching his expression.

"Agree to disagree," he replied, prompting another chuckle.

"So you've got a spark of wit after all…"

"Excuse me, but did you have anything important to tell me?" Michalis interjected.

"Oh, I suppose not," he admitted. "But I doubt many other people in the castle would be willing to talk to you about now."

"Then I will value this moment of solitude."

"If you don't want me here you only had to say," he grinned easily, winking at his companion. "I can certainly busy myself elsewhere."

"Then do so. I need to speak with Minerva."

"With pleasure. She returned to her quarters, as far as I know. I'm sure she'll want to discuss the match." He bowed and smiled, tugging the woman away gently. "Come Leda darling, our time together is limited. Let's enjoy it shall we?" She nodded and giggled softly, whispering something in his ear as they departed.

"I can't fathom it…" Camus muttered as they walked away.

Michalis looked askance at him, then shrugged. "At least they enjoy themselves. I will, if I ever marry, do so for political purpose merely."

"He's hardly _marrying,_ milord."

"The point remains." He walked out of the training grounds and into the palace proper, Camus following close behind.

"That bothers you? The pressure of marrying well?" he asked.

"It is irrelevant," Michalis replied. "It is what it is."

"Perhaps it is so, milord."

"And what else is it, perhaps…?"

"Nothing, milord."

"Will you ever marry, Camus? You are a noble, after all, if not a king. You must feel the pressure, same as I."

"Not quite the same, but yes, I will someday. But my duty comes first, for now."

Michalis nodded, opening the door to his quarters.

"There are more raids on the border," Camus added, hurriedly, as if afraid. "From Dolhr."

Michalis' fists clenched. "Why did you not tell me earlier?"

"It is only a minor thing, milord. I did not wish to bother you."

Michalis' searched his knight's eyes, but the man was good at making his expression unreadable. "It will not remain minor. Things will escalate, if we do not squash it now. And if my people are in any way threatened, it was never a minor thing in the first place. Talk to my generals and prepare a strategy while I speak to my sister."

"All the generals, milord? A full invasion? I do not think all that is necessary."

"It is, Camus. Perhaps it is as you say- the world knows I and Macedon are strong. Now, then, it will find out exactly how much so."

"Yes, milord," the knight nodded and bowed with only the slightest hesitation, then left.

Michalis knocked on his sister's door a few minutes later, now dressed in the same robes she had been before.

When she called him to come in he found her sitting at the long table in the center of the room, a map spread out before her. Palla remained with her, spear and shield gone but sword still at her side.

"Has there been something to worry you, sister?" he asked, taking a seat across from her.

She gave him a questioning look, and he nodded towards Palla.

"It is my duty to remain with milady at all times, milord. Macedon faces many threats…" the Whitewing replied, rising and bowing respectfully.

He waved for her to sit and fixed her with a close gaze. "That does not, usually, mean that the bodyguard remains in their _room_ , Palla."

"Let her alone, brother, she's hardly doing any harm. And what she says is true- I'm safer with her here than away from me." She looked meaningfully at Michalis.

"Yes," he nodded. "It is good that there is someone to watch over you when I cannot."

"Yes," she smirked. " We both know I'd be helpless without one of you here."

Michalis scowled slightly but did not respond, instead addressing Palla again. "Your devotion is commendable, but we will be fine on our own for now. You may leave us."

She nodded, bowing once each to Michalis and Minerva. "I will be right outside if you need me, milord, milady." They nodded, murmuring thanks and quieting until she had left.

Michalis glanced at the map on the table. " Planning strategy already, I see."

His sister nodded. "Camus told me, just before the match. I wanted to have some ideas ready before we called a meeting."

"Just before the match? That was when he told you? I did not see you speaking then…"

"Fine, then. He told me two days ago."

"Two days?" Michalis growled, hand tightening on the armrest of the chair. "That means that they have been raiding our borders for a week, at the least. This is inexcusable, Minerva. Why did you not tell me?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I assumed Camus had his reasons. He is an intelligent man; he wouldn't do it without some logic behind it."

"What reason could be good enough for defying his king?"

"A little discretion isn't defiance, brother. Calm yourself. You know his loyalty is beyond question. How many others would remain with us through so much?"

Michalis sighed, relaxing slightly. "With his level of loyalty? I can count them on one hand and have fingers to spare. It still rankles that he would hide this from me…"

"It doesn't matter now. You know, and we've had some time to prepare. Perhaps it was for the best. It left you time to deal with… other things."

"Akhille had to die. You know that."

She shrugged. "Perhaps."

"It was necessary. I could not let him be after what he did."

"But it was a hastily reached decision, and you made it more or less on your own. Maybe this is why Camus kept it from you."

"What do you mean?" he snapped.

"I mean that this is dangerous news. Dolhr is powerful- acting rashly could destroy us."

"Not more powerful than Macedon. We are stronger than we have been in centuries."

"Yes…" she nodded. "Our nation's ascension has been a long time coming. Since our parents' time."

Michalis tensed, gripping on the armrest once again and forcing himself to swallow his anger. Minerva watched him, expression carefully unreadable.

"Sometimes I think you do this on purpose, sister…" he muttered.

"You wouldn't be wrong."

"So you are testing me, are you?" he demanded, snarling, rising halfway from his seat. His hand, still grabbing onto the armrest, tethered him in place like an anchor.

She met his gaze, expression as icy as his was angry, but ever so slightly she flinched, something that was almost fear flickering across her face, and Michalis immediately sat back down, flinging himself against the seat. His limbs felt weak, limp, and he sagged, looking down. "I am… sorry," he shuddered. "Forgive me."

Slumping too, she shook her head. "Don't be… I was wrong to bait you like that. And… I was testing you and I should not have." She rubbed her forehead gently. "I don't know why we do these things…"

He chuckled bitterly. "It is a twisted, imperfect world, sister, full of twisted, imperfect people. We do the best we can, and that's all that can be asked for."

"Maybe…" she trailed off into silence for a moment, contemplative, before speaking again. "Dolhr will be a dangerous conquest, far more so than any we have attempted before. And it may interrupt our other plans."

"Dolhr is not what it once was- the war with Altea saw to that… We were wise to sit that out. Our conquests have only made us stronger, while their war has weakened them."

"You are planning to invade Altea and Dolhr at the same time? Either one I am confident we could defeat, yes, but both… I am not so certain."

"Dolhr we will conquer fully, yes, but with Altea there are other options. Marth cares a great deal for his people."

"As do you. These conquests are for the sake of Macedon after all." Minerva interjected.

"Of course," he nodded. "But Marth thinks too much of the present, too little of the future. He does not understand the importance of sacrifice… the potential of pain. If I make the war too costly for him, he will surrender."

"That will mean great losses on both sides," Minerva pointed out. "Not as much as if he fought to the bitter end but still... It will take brutality. Scorched earth. Are you willing to do that?"

"Yes," he replied flatly. "But I will speak to him first. Marth is… weak, in certain ways. Perhaps only the threat of violence will be enough."

"And if that doesn't work? If he has more of a spine than you think?"

"Then we fight Dolhr and Altea at the same time, and we will succeed."

"They are both strong nations… I don't think this is wise, brother," she cautioned.

"No," he shook his head, "this is the only way. If our vision is to succeed, we require speed in our conquests. The world does not yet know the extent of my ambitions… we must take as much as we can while it is still unawares."

"And if we lose? If Macedon is ruined?"

"Then I was not worthy of being king in the first place."

"This is not wise brother. I must be frank with you, I do not think Marth will accept your terms and I do not think he will surrender easily. We _will_ fight both Dolhr and Altea and that is not a fight we can win."

"I must do this sister."

"Must? _Must?_ " She exclaimed, throwing her arms out wide. "Who in this earth could tell you what to do? Not me, certainly, for all I try and advise you, it is only _you_ who makes your decisions. _You_ are king and beyond that you are twice so stubborn and strong and prideful as any many who has lived. This is your decision, Michalis, and yours alone. There is no thing on that you _must_ do. Only your own choices."

"No!" Michalis slammed his fist against the armrest, so hard the wood dented, his fingers curling and gripping vice like once again. "In all my life there is only one must and it is this! This vision, this conquest. I must, Minerva, _I must._ For the the pain, for the blood, for the suffering I have endured I have no choice but to continue. I must believe great things can come of pain, I must make greatness of my pain! For what I have done, for what has been done to me, for hurting and being hurt, for any of that to mean something, to be worth it, for my kingship, my life, to be anything but a wreck I must! I will be king, emperor, lord of the world! How else can I carry on? How else can I be anything but broken, weak, savage, mindless, a useless and _pathetic_ mockery of a man?"

Minerva looked down. "This is isn't the only way to greatness…"

"For me it is. This is my only path…Maybe, maybe at some point there was another one, But now… do you mean to tell me the dead behind me are meaningless? What greater shame is there than to die for nothing? I would be nothing but a murderer if I did not fight for some purpose. That is what stopping now would make me. A senseless killer. I cannot… " his fists clenched and unclenched a few times. "I cannot be that."

His sister rose and walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I will support you in this, brother, you know that."

"I know, Minerva. There is no one in this world we can trust but each other. And I know that trust would never be betrayed."

"I…" she hesitated. "No one?"

"No," he said firmly. "Not truly trust. Camus, Jeorge, Palla, those I guess that you think should be trusted… it is not the same."

"Not even you can face the world alone brother," she smirked.

"I am not alone. I have a kingdom behind me and you to support me… that is all I need."

"That is not what I mean, brother. Those people have stood by us, they support your vision the same as I do."

"I am their king-"

"But that is not why they do it," she cut him off. "I do not follow you because you are king, either, or even because we are siblings. I support you, like they do, because we care about you and do not want to see you _dead._ "

"They have not been through what we have together, and for that reason I cannot extend them the same trust."

"Maybe not. But they were here for us, as much as they could be."

"They could not stop father's blows or mother's taunts. They could not stop us being _broken_. When these brands were placed upon our chests they were there to watch… it is a surprise I trust them as much as I do." He laughed faintly.

"They did as much as they could…" she said softly. "Would you have had them put their heads on the chopping block for us?"

"Any soldier should be willing to die for his or kingdom."

"You were not king back then."

Michalis went quiet for a moment, clutching at his hand. "Maybe, then, I should trust them more than I do. Maybe you are right to do so. But I am helpless to my nature…"

"As long as you know they will support us. We can't do this alone."

"And yet it is hard not to feel that whole world is set against us…"

"Deciding to conquer the world may have something to do with that," she chuckled.

He shrugged. "Something. But not everything…"

They lapped into silence for a moment, Minerva retaking her seat across from him. "You didn't have to kill him…" she said eventually. "I can handle my own problems."

"Justice comes from the king," he replied.

"But that's not why you did this. This was about vengeance. Vengeance for my sake, and that's not your decision to make."

"I made it anyways, Minerva, and I don't regret it. After what he did to you…" Involuntarily his fists clenched once again.

"What he _tried_ to do to me. Like I said, I can handle myself."

"I'm surprised he wasn't hurt worse. But regardless, there must be punishment. He tried to…" his voice haltered, "to hurt you… that cannot go unpunished."

"Then why didn't you execute him? Put him on trial? Attempting to rape me would certainly be grounds to kill him, and if you were the judge no one would question."

"Why are you questioning me on this? Do you wish he hadn't died?"

"I smiled when you broke his spine, brother. I just don't think it was the best way to go about it."

"I had to make an example of it. They don't need to know what he did; even the suggestion of it would make you seem… weak. It is not true," he said before she could object, "but that is how it would be seen. All they need to know is that he did something to anger me. Thus the others fall in line and we seem stronger. If I am to be emperor I must have complete control, utter respect; an emperor is always a tyrant. This killing increases that respect, that control. And you and I get justice, vengeance…"

"You're smarter than you look, brother. That plan could work… it probably will. They'll fear you too, though."

"I know that…" a look of almost regret passed over his face. "But that is how it must be. A different fate was never in the cards for me."

"It still feels wrong to me…" she shook her head. "To be doing this when… when…" trailing off into silence she hung her head and closed her eyes.

"When it was what father wanted, you mean?" Michalis finished. She nodded dumbly, and he lapsed into silence too before continuing. "Do you know why I finally killed him?"

"I can think of a dozen things he did to you and me that would earn it," she remarked bitterly.

"It wasn't any of that… oh, that was why he deserved it. Why I could finally break control and do it. But that wasn't _why._ It was because I didn't need him anymore. He was trying to make me strong, and it worked. He was cruel, ruthless, evil. I have strained with every fiber of my being to be better than him, despite how he broke and molded me. But he did make me strong. He set me on this path and I saw the worth of it… I never told you this before. But I can almost thank him…"

"You can forgive him?" her voice went strained, angry. "You think that what he did was justified?"

"Never. Not for what he did to you, for that there will _never_ be forgiveness. Our parents' torment of you was pure cruelty. But for me… he did make me strong, Minerva. From pain comes great things…"

She said nothing, and for a moment Michalis struggled for something to say, then left in silence.

Jeorge rose from his bed at the knock on the door, stretching languidly and tying the lower half of his garment around his waist. Leda rolled over in bed, twisting the sheets further around her.

"I'll be there in a moment," he called out. "I'm not quite presentable at the moment."

"Hurry then, I need to speak with you," replied Minerva.

"Mm, come in then darling, I'll be out soon," he said, splashing his face with water and running a comb through his hair. He could feel the stony silence as the door opened and Minerva walked in, carefully looking away from the bed.

"This is a private conversation," she remarked stiffly.

"Ah, right," he walked out of the restroom and shook Leda gently. "Begone, dear, I'm busy at the moment. She mumbled something and got up, unashamedly naked, bowing to Minerva. "Good afternoon, Lady Minerva."

"Good afternoon," she bowed slightly, gaze still pointed averted, and sat next to Jeorge, who had taken up a seat lounging on the couch. They sat in silence until Leda dressed and left. When she did, Minerva noticed a subtle change to Jeorge's posture; he was still close to lying down, but at the same time it turned more alert, and the smile on his face faded slightly, becoming more natural.

"'Darling?'" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged. "Just my way… Minerva," he laughed softly, plucking a grape from the bunch next to him.

"You're playing with fire Jeorge," she said, but couldn't help but smile.

"Mmm…" he smirked and took another grape, winking at her. "Forbidden fruit is sweetest."

"I'm surprised no one's killed you yet," she muttered.

"Oh, they've tried. But I've yet to find someone who can get within ten paces of myself and my bow."

"I meant one of your… companions."

He laughed again, louder this time. "I just try and find like minded individuals… really can you imagine someone like me or Leda getting jealous?"

"You could say you and I are like minded," she snorted, "and we certainly didn't work."

"You and I are like minded… that's an interesting way to put it." He smirked, "Leda was certainly very beautiful wasn't she…"

"I hardly had a chance to notice."

"So is Palla…," he added, laughing.

Minerva allowed herself a small smile. "That I did notice," she said, then glanced at him sharply. "Hands off."

"Who, me? I'd never," he raised a hand to his chest in mock effrontery, then lowered it and smiled. "In all seriousness, I wouldn't, most of all because it would hurt you. I have some standards…"

"That's hard to tell sometimes," she smiled wryly.

"It's true. Just because our preferences… separate us, doesn't mean my feelings just fade away like nothing. They've only… shifted. I can and do still care for you. You..." a strange look passed over his face, "you would have been different, for whatever it's worth that I say it."

"I know. And… that's why I need to talk to you. I can confide in you…"

Jeorge's posture shifted again, becoming straighter, and his expression turned serious. "I knew you didn't just come here for idle chatter…" he smiled slightly. "What's on your mind?"

"It's Michalis…" she sighed. "Yet again. He's getting worse."

"Really? He doesn't seem as bad as he used to be…" He rose and poured himself a glass of wine. Minerva shook her head when he proffered her one, and he continued, after a long drink, "those first days were… chaotic."

"That's the problem. He's not crazy like we thought he might be back then. He's as strong in mind and body as ever he just… won't stop. And some of the things he says… they worry me."

"And what are you or I going to do about it?" Jeorge asked simply, lounging next to her once again.

Minerva looked down. "I don't know…"

"And why haven't you gone to Palla about this? Not that I mind you coming to talk to me..."

"You're closer to Michalis than she is. I'm not even sure if he's aware that we are…"

"In love?" Jeorge finished. "Don't be so shy about admitting it, not here. Worse things have failed to escape these four walls…" he chuckled softly.

"Are you implying there is something wrong about it?" Minerva's voice took on a harsher edge. Jeorge either didn't notice or didn't care, merely taking another long drink and shrugging. "In the view of some people, yes. The point is your secret, as much as it is secret, is safe with me."

She shot him a questioning glance, and he added, "The more intelligent and observant folk around the castle have noticed it already, Minerva. There's quite a business to be made trading in secrets, but they keep this one in particular under wraps."

"And why's that?"

"Just ask Akhille," he smiled broadly, "No one wants to be next in line to offend your brother and get their neck snapped. But anyways, you've come to talk to me because I'm closer to Michalis, and presumably, you expect me to do something about it. What, exactly, would that be?"

"Like I said. I don't know. But there must be something…"

"What's changed? I thought that you and he had the same vision…"

"No…" she shook her head. "I… yes, I want Macedon to be a great nation. But conquering the world… that's his vision. I support him because he's my brother, because we need each other, but I always imagined I could… restrain him. There are a lot of kingdoms in the world that would be better off with Michalis as king or emperor, believe me. But now…" she paused for a moment, then asked, "Would Michalis ever turn against you? Hurt you?"

"I don't see what you're getting at…"

"Just answer the question."

"Only if I did something particularly heinous… turned against him first, or hurt you. Neither of which I could imagine happening. Really though, I don't see the point of this."

"But otherwise? If you hadn't done those things?" she pressed on.

"No. He would not."

"What about Camus? Or myself? Or even Palla?"

"I… the same for all of them, why?"

"Michalis would never hurt those he considers friends," she said pointedly.

Jeorge couldn't help but laugh. "Michalis and friends are not two things that go together all that well…"

"But you would consider him a friend, wouldn't you? Or… a brother, something like that, if friend isn't the best word."

"Brothers and sisters…" Jeorge mused. "Yes, that might be a good way to put it. Alright, so he would not kill or hurt those he cares for. That's the self control he prides himself so much on. Are you saying he is losing control?" He tensed slightly. "Are you at risk Minerva? If that is the case don't waste time with words-"

"No!" she cut him off sharply. "No. I think it would take something beyond what we could predict to turn him against me. But… who else does he consider a… a brother."

The archer relaxed again. "Not many. I… I think I begin to see your point… you refer to Marth, yes? I remember he always came here in the old times, when his father still ruled… the ambassador from Altea. He and Michalis got along well, as well as anyone can get along with Michalis. Marth always tried to be… helpful."

"Yes… Michalis is planning to invade Altea, Jeorge."

"Yes, eventually, but there's time to do something before then-"

"No, Jeorge, _now._ "

"But… at the same time as Dolhr? I thought Michalis was good deal more intelligent than that…"

"He is, Jeorge. Winning or losing isn't what I'm concerned about… hell, I'm almost confident we would win. What I care about is that he _is_ losing control. He seems more stable now, but he's just… channeling that rage. It used to be about protecting Macedon, me, making something great… it was always a messy, bloody thing, but now… He's colder, he plans more, and that makes him seem better than he was. But that bloodlust, that anger… its as strong or stronger than ever. It's controlling what he does. I can feel it."

"My question remains the same, what should we do about it? You can't be suggesting that we rebel…"

"Never," she said firmly. "That would be unthinkable, you know that."

"Then what can be done?" Jeorge asked sharply, in tones more pointed than his usual lazy, flowing, manner.

"I don't know…" Minerva hung her head. "I don't think… I don't think I could persuade him to stop. But if I have you on my side, and the others, it might be possible to turn him towards a safer course of action. An alliance with Altea, perhaps."

"Marth isn't the type to conquer the world."

"But he is reasonable. If we can talk to him, we might convince him it's the best course of action for his kingdom."

"Michalis is not, however, in all frankness and with no offense meant, the best at that sort of delicate negotiation. Particularly if that is not what he is aiming for; I'm not sure how he would handle sharing authority."

"So we give him a little help. You still have contacts in Altea, I'm assuming…"

"Of course, Minerva. Michalis isn't the man for espionage your mother was…" he trailed off, a slight awkwardness entering his voice, before continuing. "But I've kept in contact… you want me to set up a secret correspondence between you and he, I'd guess…"

She nodded, and he mused, "But it doesn't matter if Marth agrees if Michalis does not… We need to make sure that all of us are coordinated. That might be tricky…"  
"How so?"

"Well… it might _seem_ as if we are defying Michalis, even if we do not. I don't think any of us would object- that's me, you, Camus, Palla, and perhaps the other Whitewings to clarify- but we can't let anyone remain merely neutral either."  
"You think there's someone who won't go along?"

"Only Camus. His loyalty is remarkable, and in this instance a remarkable pain in the ass. If there's even the appearance of defiance, he'll be reluctant to say the least."

"Then how do we talk him around?"  
"We'll all speak to him, but I think he would listen best to you and Palla… his oath is to Michalis but he has almost as much respect for you. And he and Palla share similar duties, similar ethics. There's a chance he'll listen to both or either of you."

She nodded. "There'll be a tactical meeting later… it's not uncommon for us to work together on that. As for Palla, I'll let her know what I'm planning. What we're planning. Thank you Jeorge…I appreciate this."

He smiled broadly. "I'm just happy to help, dear. I _do_ care about somethings, despite appearances. Quite a few things, if I'm honest…"

"I know, Jeorge." She returned a very slight smile. "You can't hide anything from me. Hmm… you should talk to Camus as well. I think he might listen to you…" she added, offhandedly.

This provoked a burst of melodious laughter. "I… I'm almost certain he despises me Minerva, I truly don't think that's the best idea."

"You're surprisingly persuasive, Jeorge," she smirked. "At the very least it won't hurt, it really won't. We need every possible advantage…"

He nodded slowly. "Alright… I'll consider it."

MInerva rose from her seat. "I'll take my leave then. We should set this in motion as soon as possible."

"But not, necessarily, right this moment. Stay for a moment… I know you didn't come for idle chatter but surely you can fit a little in."

"Why?" she demanded, sharper than she meant to.

If Jeorge noticed the harshness, he didn't react. "Because you'll drive yourself mad with stress if you don't somewhere, that's why. The lot of you are all so damned serious."

"There's not much to be happy about, at the moment."

"Not unless you make something to be," he smiled. "Just consider it Minerva dear, the kingdom won't fall apart if you rest for an hour…"

"Or perhaps it will," she sighed. "Goodbye, Jeorge." She walked out, Jeorge watching her go for a moment before settling back and closing his eyes.

Palla came up to greet her when she reached her room, going up to her and hugging her gently as Minerva closed the door behind her.

"You spoke to Jeorge?" she asked, looking up at the taller woman.

"Yes…" Minerva ran a hand through her hair briefly, gently, before moving away. "He's agreed to help, and we've come up with a plan that just might work…" She sat at the couch and sighed deeply, leaning back.

Palla glanced at her for a moment, looking as if she wanted to say something, but she remained quiet and joined her at the couch, hands folded in her lap.

"Did anyone see you come back in…?" Minerva asked.

She shook her head. "This section of the palace is always fairly empty… I think I'm safe."

"Good… I'm glad you're here," she replied, and Palla brightened slightly. "I need to talk to you," she went on, and her expression fell once again.

"Minerva…" she said softly. "I…" she sighed. "What do you need to talk about?"

"Palla?" Minerva asked, growing slightly concerned. "What is it…?"

"It's nothing," she smiled reassuringly, but Minerva could tell it was a mask.

"No, it's something… tell me Palla."

The other woman blushed slightly. "You didn't hug back…"

"I… I'm sorry Palla but that's really nothing. I have a lot on my mind at the moment…"

"It's not nothing!" she snapped, suddenly. "Minerva we're in private…" her voice softened. "Act like we're a couple for once, won't you? Really truly…"

"Palla… this is great risk, you have to understand that. It's not that I don't feel for you, but we can't escape the fact that most of the rest of the kingdom considers what we are wrong."

"You're the king's sister Minerva. Surely that means you can get away with some things… even if what we are has to be… wrong." She looked down, holding her arm gently.

"I still have to worry about what they think… this position is more fragile than you might think. I can't take any risks."

"Are…" Palla closed her eyes, squeezing her arm tighter. "Are you sure we should be together, then? If it is such a risk… My job is to keep you safe Minerva, I…"

"Oh Palla…" Minerva shut her eyes too. "Don't… No Palla, we should stay together. But you have to understand the risk-"

"I love you Minerva," she cut her off. "And I want you to love me back, I can't be with you if you don't like I do. Don't you understand that this is much or more of a risk for me? When it comes down to it, you're royalty, you have the king's protection, you're so strong… But I… I'm just a servant really. In a high position yes, but I'm not of noble birth, I don't have the resources you do. But I love you, Minerva, and it's worth it to me. If it's not to you… Minerva I can't bear to think that… you're ashamed of me…" she squeezed her arm again, not meeting Minerva's gaze.

Minerva remained quiet too, surprised, after a moment, to feel a single tear roll down her cheek. "I've been such a fool…" she rose, taking Palla's hand and pulling her up with her, wrapping her arms around her waist and holding her close. "I'm so sorry Palla… I love you too. And I'm such a fool to ever let you forget that…" She sat back on the couch, holding Palla in her lap.

"It's alright… as long as I know we're in this together, equally…" Palla murmured. "Now what was it you wanted to talk about…?

"It can wait…" Minerva said softly. "There's more important things for now…"

Camus lunged at the target, spear thrusting forth with enough force and momentum to stick several inches into the dummy. Jerking back sharply he snapped the spear behind him, blocking an imaginary blow from behind before whirling around, the spear darting forward and striking a second target. His usual lance, Gradivus, lay unused on the rack in the courtyard, close enough to be at hand if necessary. But for now, that weapon was hardly worth wasting on a mere training exercise. Even in the bright sunlight its glow was still faintly visible.

A sheen of sweat accumulate quickly as he trained; the armor he wore, although lighter than what he would have borne back west, was still far heavier than the typical style here. The others- or Jeorge, more accurately- mocked him for his choice, but the trade off, that he could move freely in armor that was far more protective, seemed well worth it to him. He pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and wiped his brow. Of course, there was some discomfort.

But there was a deeper reason to it, more than the mere practical benefits. Camus wasn't a soldier, certainly not a soldier of Macedon. He was a knight, and that was, in so many subtle yet important ways, different.

"Sir Camus?" a pleasant voice called out from a little ways away. "Don't you think it would be more useful to train _with_ someone than against a dummy? I'm probably more skilled than it is…"

"Ah, Lady Palla," he turned and bowed slightly as she chuckled gently. "I didn't know you would be coming to join me today. I thought you might be in the tactics meeting with Minerva."

She shook her head. "I'm no good at planning battles, just fighting them. And if she's not safe there, where would she be? I'm equally surprised you're not there today. You have a mind for that sort of thing I just don't."

"I don't feel the need, I suppose. Macedon has no knights and no cavalry. No land based calvary, at least," he added with a nod towards Palla, "so my skills aren't as useful."

"You still usually meet with Minerva about tactics." she pointed out.

"In private, though," he said. "These group meetings… milord has done the best he can to weed out corruption, but even he can only do so much."

"It makes you wonder…" she shot a meaningful glance at Camus.

"Wonder what?" His stance became more guarded, his expression wary.

"Forgive me, Sir Camus, but I must be honest with you, although you may not like what I have to say…" she hesitated before pressing on. "I only wonder if perhaps Michalis had not decided to conquer the world, if he would not have been more successful here."

Camus's posture stiffened further. "It should be Lord Michalis or milord, Lady Palla," he replied shortly.

"That is all you have to say?" she asked, incredulity creeping into her voice.

"Yes," he snapped, getting into a battle stance. "Now let us spar. That is what we came here to do and we have wasted enough time."

"It is not a waste if-"

"It is a waste if milord is questioned! Ready yourself Lady Palla."

"Only Palla," she said. "I am not nobly born…"

His stance and expression relaxed slightly. "Out of deference and my respect for Lady Minerva, you should have the title…"

"Camus-" she began, looking startled, but the knight cut her off. "It is nothing, Lady Palla. Only what should be done. Now, finally, we shall begin…"

"Not quite yet. Just answer me this first, Sir Camus… do you really have no doubts about what is happening?"

"My loyalty is always to my master, wholly and completely. Particularly to a master like Michalis…"

"Even if you don't agree with what they do? You and I see many things the same way, surely you can't be free of any doubts or questions… It doesn't make you a failed or disloyal servant to have an opinion."

"In my eye it does, Palla, and by that definition I am already failed twice over, because I have broken my oaths before. But my loyalty to Michalis runs even deeper than the oaths I have sworn, even more than the great stock I already place in those… I served a king in Dolhr, as my first master. Not a good man, as I am sure you can guess, but that is how I was raised and trained, and for several years I served him well and loyally. Then, his deeds grew worse and darker… one day, during a battle, I seized my chance to escape. That action did and still does haunt me… but I felt it necessary. I fled here and after showing my skill Michalis' father took me in, gave me a position. But as I saw his cruelty, how he treated his own son and daughter… I could not countenance to serve him either. So when Michalis and Minerva finally rose up against them, I decided I would finally align myself to a master a I could fully serve, with pride. I have failed those I serve before. I will not do so with milord Michalis," he said finally.

"Then why not help him to become a better king? I know you support these conquests, so do I. Maybe our reasons vary a little, but now that it is under way, we have no choice. That doesn't mean we follow blindly, that isn't the best way to serve."

"Palla, the things you say…. They are dangerous. They lead to a slippery slope… I cannot change my ways on a mere whim. Steadfast loyalty is still the best way."

"But what if _that_ is the more dangerous path? What if Michalis' actions will destroy himself, or the kingdom? What if you or he or Minerva dies because of his actions?"

"I am willing to die for milord and milady, and I would do so before I allow any harm to come to them."

"And I would do the same… but that doesn't mean I'm going to throw my life away."

"If I die for the kingdom then it is not throwing my life away. I came here to spar, Lady Palla, not to debate. You won't convince me, and I'd rather put my time to something useful."

"Debate me while we fight then," she chuckled softly. "We'll spar with words and weapons at the same time."

A slight smile crossed Camus's face. "A fine compromise. Ready yourself."

Palla took up her spear and shield, crouching down so that the wide circular shield covered most of her body. "Your life is worth more while you're alive, Sir Camus. You can be of more service to the kingdom if you advise Michalis, not merely do what he says."

Camus lunged, spear stabbing downwards. She raised her shield, knocking back the spear and stabbing forwards with her own. Bringing his spear close and holding it diagonally in front of him, he caught the tip of hers on the shaft, shoving her back. "I have already tried to guide and mentor him as best I can. But I do not think he can be stopped in his conquests,if that is what you are trying to do."

She stepped back, keeping her guard up, spear darting out to force Camus to keep his distance. Camus swept his lance, longer than hers, knocking it aside and bringing his own back sharply to prepare for another thrust.

"I don't want to stop him," she charged forward, pushing aside his spear with her shield, "It's not my place to tell him what to do anyways, far from it. But it is my job, _our_ job to protect the king and his sister."

"Defiance is not protection." He slammed his spear down, trapping hers against the ground as she thrust. "I can protect him better by remaining at his side, following his orders."

"I would do whatever Minerva ordered me," she countered, pulling her spear away and darting back quickly as Camus thrust, "and I know you would do the same for Michalis. But that doesn't mean we don't have a will of our own."  
Camus swept at her legs, lunging forward. As she attempted to dodge he slipped his grip back on his spear, extending the range far enough to catch a glancing blow on her shins, throwing her off balance. But before he could press the advantage she lashed out with her shield, hitting his forehead and forcing him back.

"You are very good, Lady Palla. You've improved since I came here," he panted softly.

"So have you," she smiled. "We've kept about equally matched."

"Only about," he smiled back slightly, lunging forwards again. "And I do have a will of my own. I merely cannot risk another betrayal."

She blocked, but a fraction too slowly, the awkward angle of the counter forcing her to move back under a hail of blows. "You aren't betraying Michalis by trying to help him," she said, frantically using spear and shield to ward off his attacks. One slip up, she cursed to herself, could put you on the losing side so quickly. "Just the opposite, in fact. A good servant should help their master however they can."

Two blows slipped past her guard, the dulled point striking her upper arm and torso. One more blow, according to the normal rules, would lose her the match. "I am afraid I simply don't see it that way. That is the end of it."

Palla shoved him back desperately with her shield, but his spear caught the lower edge and he pulled it away flinging her arm aside and twisting away from her thrust. His lance swept upwards striking her side and knocking her to the floor.

"I suppose that is, then…" she chuckled and raised herself to her elbows, taking his outstretched hand to help herself up.

"You fought very well," he nodded. "And argued very well, as well, I should admit."

"Does that mean I've convinced you?" she smiled hopefully.

"Hardly," he replied, and she sagged slightly. "But… there are things worth considering in what you say. I am not sure, however, exactly what you expect of me. I am willing to… advise milord. But it seems you are getting at… something more. That is why I have been so wary."

"Just to have an open mind, Sir Camus. And think of what is best for the kingdom. That's all."

"That is always my first concern," he said, nodding. "And as I said… I will consider your words."

"Not just mine," she said. "I believe milady Minerva will have something to say when you meet for tactics."

"You're working together on this, then."

"Of course," she smiled. "I mean…" a slight hesitation entered her voice. "You know…"

"Yes," he nodded. "It is a very… new thing to me. But I know and respect both you and Lady Minerva, and my duty is to the king. I won't stand in the way of his sister."

"Thank you, Sir Camus. I appreciate that you will stand by my side…"

He nodded simply, making no verbal reply. "Shall we spar again?" he asked after a moment. "Milord and milady's meeting will not end for sometime now."

"Of course," she grinned. "I need to make a comeback after all."

Michalis walked out to the stables, fists clenching and unclenching almost unconsciously. Something about these meetings rankled him. He could not trust his generals, even the best of them, like he could Minerva and Camus, but he and Minerva and could not lead an army alone, and Camus stubbornly refused these meetings, although he regularly helped alter on. The necessity of having to delegate power to someone he did not trust disturbed him, but he could not avoid it, and that fact made it even worse. Several days of them was enough to put him in a foul mood.

He moved towards a particular section of the stables, the smallest one. Macedon had little calvary to speak of; traditional tactics combined infantry and aerial troops. For a long time, aerial troops had meant only pegasii, but his father had brought back an ancient tradition, from the days of Iskander- wyvern riding. A practice that was not without cost, he thought, feeling a twinge in his chest. But it brought great power as well… He stopped in front of the stall where Ajax rested, at the moment a curled lump of dark scales half covered by leathery wings, head tucked under his tail. He snorted softly, stirring slightly in his slumber. Michalis unlocked and opened the gate, beckoning him forward, "Ajax, come," he commanded, but not harshly, as one might to a dog.

The wyvern stirred further, spreading its wings as far as they could go in the confines of the stable, rising up and shaking itself before lumbering forward. Michalis reached forward, running his hand along his neck as the dragon ducked his head, nudging it against Michalis' chest gently. Many people were afraid of them, and Michalis supposed he could understand that, given their power, their strength, their size, but it was also clear to him that such people did not know dragons very well; they were loyal in the extreme, and would never hurt those they had bonded too.

He remained silently in place for a long moment. In theory he was here to check that Ajax was healthy and ready for battle, but in truth any trained servant could do that. Michalis had never gotten along very well with people, nor cared to do so. But here there was a moment to relax and think.

His reverie was interrupted, however, minutes later, by the arrival of Palla. "They're beautiful creatures, aren't they milord?" she said, bowing deeply.

"Yes," he nodded, toneless and calm. "What news do you have for me, Palla?" he asked as she began to pet Ajax gently.

"Our troops are nearly ready to move out, sir. Camus and Minerva decided that he and Jeorge will take a small expedition, including the Whitewings, to join the forces already there. Minerva will remain here, to help oversee the kingdom."

"That will not be enough," Michalis growled. "That is not what I requested."

"It will be enough for now, milord… that is what they agreed. They believe it will be enough to rally the troops there and hold the line until we can mount a larger invasion. They want to sort out the situation in Altea first."

"I have some time before I plan to meet with Marth… I will join the expedition until it is time for me to go. If we will not be expanding territory in Dolhr, then there should be no issue with me going."

"No, milord. They expected you would…"  
"It upsets me that they changed plans behind my back, I must be honest," he shook his head. "Although what they came up with seems reasonable."

"I don't think they meant to go behind your back…" she said softly, almost soothingly.

He snorted. "Even so… I do not like the thought I cannot trust them totally."

"Minerva did say she wished to speak with you," she added. "I'm sure it will become clear then…"

"Yes," he relaxed slightly. "I'm certain it will. Palla?"

"Yes milord?"

"I must thank you… "

She tilted her head. "Milord?"

"For the care you take of my sister. There is very little in this world I value more than my sister's safety, nothing at all, perhaps. And as much as I strive to I cannot be there looking over her at every moment. So I am glad that there is someone to guard her when I cannot, at all times. Someone she and I both trust."

"Thank you, milord." She bowed again then hesitated. "I have you to thank as well, milord. And I must apologize… I have been dishonest with you…"

Michalis tensed, feeling his fingers curl into fists of their own accord. "Explain," he demanded flatly.

"Akhille, sir," she said hurriedly, "he did not attack Minerva-"

"Why would she lie to me?" He snapped. "Be careful what you accuse my sister of-"

"It was me! It was me he… attacked. She… she wanted him dead and she knew that if you thought she was hurt you would do so. If it were the king's sister that would justify his execution but if it were only me…I don't have your sister's status. And so the crime might have been overlooked…" she trailed off, stance at once defiant and nervous as she waited for his response.

Michalis went quiet for a long moment, eyes locking onto hers. "My own _sister…_ " he tightened his fist. "Deceiving me, using me…"

"Milord… she was only trying to protect me… please if you must be angry be angry with me. I should not have allowed her to lie to you."

"Silence," he cut her off sharply. "My sister should have known the response would be the same. There are very few people I trust in this kingdom, in this world, and you are among those few. Such valuable loyalty must be preserved…"

"Thank you, milord," she bowed deeply, "And please, if my words mean anything… don't be angry with Minerva. Her intentions were good."

Michalis modded dumbly, hand resting gently on Ajax's head. "Prepare the Whitewings," he said at last. "We leave for Dolhr tomorrow morning."

Jeorge knelt at the cliffside across the fort, bow held loosely at his side. Archers were rare in Macedon, so he was alone out here as the other troops, nearly all infantry, formed in ranks, tightly packed spears and shields turning the army into something like misshapen gleaming porcupine. The few other archers in the army were nestled inside, carrying shortbows for use once they came in closer range. Even a good longbow didn't have the range or force to be useful from Jeorge's vantage point. An ordinary good longbow, that was; Jeorge's was slightly… different.

A thud and a heavy, grunting breath from behind him alerted him that Michalis had arrived,on dragonback; a few lighter sounds indicated the Whitewings.

He turned and waved, smiling lazily, "Good day, milord, my ladies. Are we ready to have a little fun?"

"Warfare is not about pleasure," Camus said, dismounting from behind one of the Whitewings. From wyvern back Michalis grunted softly.

"Not quite yet," he grumbled softly. "We will give our foe more time to prepare, and meet us. This is the first time a wyvern has been used in battle outside of Macedon in over three centuries. Today's victory must be a spectacle."

"Mm? We used them in our battles not so long ago…" Jeorge pointed out.

"That was merely reconsolidating old territory… This is the first time our might will be shown to the broader world." He glanced around the troops with him, tightening his grip on his long handled axe. "You all are in charge of today's battle. I will have it known to the officers here that they obey your orders. There is to be no mercy today."

"There is a small civilian population here… servants and such." Camus said warily.

"Do not waste your time pursuing slaves," Michalis said. "But this place will be burned to the ground. Dolhr thinks we are weak? That they may trod over us, kill our people and ruin our land? We will prove beyond any doubt otherwise."

"We're going to conquer them anyways," Jeorge pulled an arrow from one of the quivers by his side, inspecting it idily. "What's the point of making a show today?"

"It is not only Dolhr," Michalis snapped. "But the world. We must put fear in their hearts, so they fall that much easier before us."

"Mm, very well." Jeorge said.

"Are you ready for battle, Jeorge?" he asked, his dragon lumbering closer.

"Of course, milord. Merely alert me when it's time to begin." He stretched and took another look at the fort as Ajax spread his wings and with a sort of hop took off, landing beside the other troops. All but one of the Whitewings and Camus followed him down.

Theoretically the fort was in a good defensive position, particularly against a primarily infantry based attack. There were pegasii, true, but there were tried and true strategies to defend against those. He wondered, briefly, if a single wyvern would be enough to turn the tide. Then he remembered it was Michalis riding it; he usually sufficed, even if a dragon wouldn't.

"Its a long way down for you," he smirked at Camus, laughing. "You'll have to go all the way around the cliff to get there. Or I suppose that's what Lady Est is here for…" he smiled at the Whitewing, a short, slender framed woman.

She returned the smile, bowing slightly from horseback. "Actually no, Sir Jeorge. I'm here to be your guard, in case enemy troops reach this far."

"Well that's very thoughtful of you all but how will Camus-" Jeorge began, but the knight was already taking off at a run towards the cliffside before he could protest. With a leap he landed on the side of the hill, the slope gentle enough that he could plant his feet, then threw out his lance, the edge of the mystical weapon cutting deep into the rock, slowing his momentum, and he skidded all the way to the bottom.

Jeorge whistled softly. "And he normally seems like such a modest man…" he sighed gently.

Beside him Est laughed softly. "Maybe he's as eager as we are to join the battle."

"I don't know if I'll exactly be joining it. I prefer to stay nice and far away…" he chuckled. "Better view that way. And lucky for you you get to join me here, safe and with a lovely vantage point to watch the whole thing."

"Oh no," she shook her head. "I'd rather be in the thick of it. Still, it's an honor to be fighting by your side finally."

"Finally?" There was some surprise in his voice. "We've never fought together before? Both I and the Whitewings are at nearly every battle."

"No, Sir Jeorge." Her expression was hidden under her helmet but Jeorge could sense the arch in her smile. "We've never been side by side before."

"What a shame…" he laughed softly. "If you prove yourself today we'll have to fight side by side more often."

"Prove myself? What about you?" Again, Jeorge could tell the smirk was there without even seeing it.

"Oh, I'm already a legend dear," he laughed and knocked an arrow to his bow. They'd be starting soon, if he had any guess.

"A bit too soon for dear," she chided gently, still laughing.

Jeorge paused momentarily, glancing at her. "Mmm… perhaps you're right." He looked down at the battlefield. The soldiers had all formed up in neat ranks, Michalis, the Whitewings, and Camus, who had managed to find a horse and armor it, at the forefront.

"Well, I'm sorry to take you away from your fun, Lady Est. With any luck Michalis won't do as well as he thought and you'll be able to swoop in and save the day," he smiled wryly.

"Oh I'm sure we won't need that. Not with the legendary Sir Jeorge helping us," she laughed.

"Mm, you're exactly correct…" he peered down at the battlefield. "Well, seems like its about to begin… now's your last chance to abandon me and join."

She sighed in mock annoyance. "No, I had better do my duty. But I sure as hell won't be stuck back here next time."

"Then I'll just have to charge at the forefront too," he grinned back.

"Camus!" Michalis bellowed below, "Lead the charge! Whitewings to me!" Ajax flapped his wings a few times, beginning to move in a sort of elephantine, lumbering run. The Whitewing's pegasii took off quicker, sliding easily into a gallop and launching into the air. Michalis spurred the sides of his beast, rising into the air after them moment later.

"Whitewings, behind and above me! Out of archers's range!" he shouted, shifting his grip on Hauteclere to a more a battle ready position. In the sunlight, the axe glinted and glimmered with a faintly red sheen. Beside him as they ascended the Whitewings pulled heavy cloaks around them against the increasing cold. Michalis let his flap behind him, feeling the chill, bracing air.

On the hilltop Jeorge watched them take off and pulled back the arrow he'd knocked before, drawing the string back to the crook of his mouth and letting it rest easily there. Est's pegasus stamped and snorted restlessly, mirroring her rider's stance even as she tried to soothe the beast.

Jeorge turned his gaze back to the sky. The golden glow of his weapon grew stronger, beginning to spread to the arrow, forming a brilliant aura around it. For a moment longer he held the bow in place, feeling the comfortable strain in his arms and torso of keeping it drawn back. The battlefield was surprisingly quiet, the only sounds the march of soldiers and faintly the clip clop of Camus' lone horse. A surprisingly peaceful, tidy scene, from up here on high, while both sides prepared for bloodshed. Then he saw, from the fortress walls, a second group of pegasii rise up. The battle was about to begin.

He took aim at the lead rider, calculating for speed and distance near instantaneously, then fired. The arrow screamed away, light streaming behind it like a comet tail. In the distance it became a pinpoint, and moments later the pegasus tumbled from the sky.

"Impressive," said Est. "Most archers can't hit a pegasus on the wing, even with a weapon like yours."

"Mm," Jeorge knocked another arrow to his bow, fired again moments later. Another pegasus fell, knocking into one of its allies as its fell. He grinned. That was a nice bonus.

Est sighed. "Don't tell me you won't be any fun to talk to just because we're in battle now…"

"Mm," replied Jeorge, chuckling softly and launching another arrow. "You'll just have to wait and see won't you…"

The next arrow streaked past Michalis, striking a pegasus to his left, its flash of light almost blinding.

"That was close, Jeorge," he muttered to himself, then grinned. Two of the enemy riders- there were about thirty total, double what Michalis had with him- swooped towards him, one from each side. He grinned and jerked on Ajax's reins, the beast twisting to the side and batting away the left rider's spear as Hautclere swept out in a wide arc, neatly decapitating the right pegasus.

Another twitch of the reins brought Michalis face to face with the second soldier. Ajax's jaws snapped out, plucking away his spear, and Michalis brought his axe down over head. A tortured screeching sound followed as it shore through upraised shield and rider alike, burying in the back of the pegasus. Beside him Palla caught an enemy pegasus on the left flank, another Whitewing picking off the distracted rider from above.

More streaks of light flicked through the air, most down below them. Where Jeroge's arrows struck soldiers on the castle walls they left burning, gaping holes in the flesh; where they struck the walls themselves they threw up chunks of rubble.

Palla's mount dropped sharply, briefly, below the enemy that had been charging towards her, her spear thrusting upwards and piercing the throat of their pegasus. She crouched down low quickly afterwards, using her shield to block another enemy who tried to do the same to her, stabbing sharply with her spear to force them back.

They drew back to a safer position but she flew after them, pulling back her arm and throwing her spear. It struck his thigh, and the force of the blow knocked him off balance and sent him tumbling to the ground. Palla drew her sword, a longer version of the usual Macedonian sword meant for use on horseback. Charging at another rider she brought her pegasus just inches away from them, their mounts kicking and biting madly at each other, wings beating madly against the air. Fighting close quarters on a pegasus was as much about stopping yourself falling off as actually striking an opponent.

Her foe attempted to move back but she pressed forward, slapping away his spear and shield whenever he tried to attack. Her pegasus, slightly stronger, slightly faster, slightly better trained, kept his off guard, forcing it down and off balance. The rider let go of their spear, frantically trying to keep hold of the reins and not fall down, desperately jerking on the reins to try and pull back and recover.

Palla spurred her mount forward again, a slash of her sword cutting the other pegasus across the face. It screamed madly, bucking in the air. Its rider, by some miracle, kept hold of the reins and remained in his saddle, but he had not the time to block, and a thrust of her sword cut him down.

Ajax charged towards another rider, and as the more agile pegasus pulled up sharply, narrowly avoiding a swipe of his claws and rising upwards to gain a better vantage point Michalis rose in a smooth motion, standing on the saddle and thrusting up with Hauteclere, sliding his grip to the back of the shaft. The sharp spike at the top of the axe cut through its stomach, blood spraying onto his helm and armor, turning the white horsehair plume red.

A single drop dripped into the gap of his helm, falling to his lips. Bitter bile, the tang of iron, the _sweetness._ He grinned broadly, slashing at another oncoming foe with his axe. Axe and shield met, shearing off the top half of the wide metal disc, cutting through face and helm. Ajax rolled to the side again, claws grabbing the approaching pegasus and tearing it in half, roaring defiance at the sky.

Palla, bloodstained and now fighting with sword in hand, flew closer to Michalis. "Millord! Below us, they need your support! We have it covered here, go to them."

Michalis growled and shook his head. "I must break through the castle walls! Jeorge cannot do it alone!"

"Milord no! One of the enemy soldiers has engaged sir-"

"One solider?" Michalis exclaimed incredulously. "How is that possible?" He glanced down at the battlefield below, where twin arcs of light shot back and forth.

Camus grunted softly, whirling Gradivus around his head and lashing out, one of the blades at the side of the spear cutting down the final soldier who had come forth from the castle walls.

Well, almost final- the last soldier, and the reason why the rest of the Macedonian forces stood behind him and he fought alone- stood in front of him, tossing his axe casually from hand to hand. As Camus completed the stroke he concentrated, a blast of purplish magic launching from the spear towards the soldier. He swept up the axe breezily, as if the giant, man-sized monstrosity weighed nothing, a branching arc of lightning sparking in the air as he did. The two bolts crashed together, creating a blinding flash and throwing up chunks of dirt and ash. Camus charged forward, now on foot, thrusting with his spear. The soldier swept with his axe and he danced aside, pulling back the spear and lashing out again.

The blades on the side smacked against his helm, but with neither enough force or at the right angle to have any real effect. His head jerked back slightly, and that was all. Now he charged at Camus, bringing his axe crashing down with such speed and momentum he had no choice but to dodge.

In the brief ensuing pause Camus straightened, saluting with his spear. "Well met," he intoned. "But if you are the only resistance your lord can offer, then surrender now. You cannot stop your defeat." He held his hand out, palm outwards to the hilltop, a signal that Jeorge was not to interfere. The rest of the army stood back, waiting. It would be pointless for them to come in range of the man's lightning.

"You talk like a real bore," shot back the soldier, resting his axe on his shoulder.

"Be that as it may," Camus said levelly, "It would be a shame to let such a mighty and honorable soldier such as yourself die here. Surrender and there will be a place for you in Macedon. I am Sir Camus, royal knight of that great nation, and you have my personal guarantee."

"Camus, eh? That makes you a damned traitor then. I'm Hector, and I am lord of this place, and I will defend it to the last. And I don't think you could convince that bloody barbarian of a king you have to do anything. He's going to try and burn this place to the ground, and by Naga I'll do the exact goddamn same to you when I finish here."

"Then farewell, milord Hector," Camus resumed his battle stance. "This is where you end."  
"Hah!" Hector grinned beneath his helm. "You know, I almost made you the same offer. Till I found out you were a traitor." He charged, the axe crashing down from over his head.

Camus made no reply to the taunt, snapping his spear into place to block, crouching and bracing himself against the ground. Even so the force of the blow was overwhelming and sent him to the ground. The axe slammed down again and Camus raised his spear, pulling it towards him slightly to catch on the crook of the axe blade, then lashing out with his foot and kicking him back. It didn't pull the axe away from his grip, as he hoped, but it was enough to throw him off balance. He rose to his knees, too close to land a fatal blow with the spear, but instead struck Hector's side with the shaft, forcing him back further. Getting back to his feet quickly he leveled Gradivus, another blast launching at Hector. In response he twirled the axe easily again, generating another arcing branch of lighting. The two collided and exploded mid air and in the confusion Camus charge forward, thrusting sharply.

Hector met his blow, the two weapons throwing out a shockwave as they met and sending out another burst of magic from each. Keeping his stance despite the force of it he rained down blows on Camus, occasional bursts of lighting crackling out randomly. Camus dodged and parried and countered desperately, as best he could, but he knew that would not be good enough. No matter how long he held out, it would simply not be enough. Hector was simply too strong. But, at the least, he would buy Michalis time, and Hector could be dealt with later. He felt secure dying in the knowledge he had helped his adoptive homeland, and served it well. And he would not go down easily. He was the finest knight in the world, after all, and that meant a reputation and honor to uphold.

The battlefield around them turned into a maelstrom, flashes of magic crackling in the air, turning the air acrid with the smell of smoke and burning, clouds of dust and debris thrown up with each blow. Metallic clashes rang out every second, the blows and parries coming quickly and without fail or tire. Camus felt a surge of confidence as he noticed his opponent struggle near as much as he did. This battle _would_ cost Hector, whether Camus lived or died.

Another massive, two handed blow sent him to the ground, knocked back almost a full body's length, arms and legs stretched wide. He groaned, rose unsteadily, barely managing to stab his spear into the ground and brace against it, blocking Hector's next blow and pushing himself up to his feet.

The mighty axe rose again, Camus too unsteady to raise any sort of steady defense. He growled, gritting his teeth against the ache and the ringing in his head, and shifted his grip on his spear until it was at the very base of the blade. He would not fall alone.

Suddenly, for a brief instant, the sun itself was blotted out before a great dark shape barreled into Hector, Michalis on its back.

Somehow- Camus couldn't help feeling a little awe- Hector managed to keep hold of his axe, grabbing the dragon's snout and forcing it up and to the side as he tried to bite him, swinging his axe wildly and sending all three, men and dragon alike into a rough, wild tumble. Two axes flailed and swung as the dragon roared and bellowed. Eventually they skidded to a halt, Ajax knocking Hector back with a swipe of his claws that amazingly didn't pierce his armor and standing protectively over Michalis as he rose.

"The king himself eh? Plus his wyvern and his knight…" Hector laughed, stance the merest bit unsteady. "Now this is a fight I'll enjoy."

Michalis grunted and threw of his helm, badly damaged by fall, growling deeply, softly. Blood streamed down one side of his face, and he threw out his hand to keep Camus back.

"Let the might of Macedon be known to you," he said simply, and charged, Hauteclere swinging in a wide arc.

Hector slammed his axe into the ground, debris and lighting striking Michalis. He only ducked, covering his head with his arm, and continued his charge.

Hector's axe swung again and Hauteclere collided with it. Lightning struck again, and though no magic sprang from Hauteclere the shockwave sent up as the two met forced amus stumble back.

Ajax lashed out with tooth and claw and Hector twirled his axe and slammed it into the ground, forcing back both him and Michalis and leaving burn marks on his flank.

"Ajax!" he shouted, snapping his fingers and waving, "away! To Palla!" The dragon took off as Hector charged at Michalis. Their two axes met again, throwing up another shockwave as the warriors came face to face.

"Hah!" Hector barked, "The mad king is going soft is he? Let me tell you, your pet is the only one who will survive today, if that."

"No," Michalis growled quietly. "I just do not need his help to kill you." His grin grew wider as he could feel the shock in Hector's stance as he was forced, slowly, gradually, but undeniably back. He kicked out, catching Michalis on the knee and retreating back. Michalis lunged forward, swinging out and halting Hector's blow as it came. As he strained to move it away Michalis lunged forward grabbing at the collar of his armor and throwing him to the ground. Hector's fist lashed out as he fell, splitting Michalis' cheek. The king gasped as the blood rushed out, hot and warm and flowing. A dribble leaked into his mouth and he drank it down, slamming Hauteclere down instants after Hector rolled away and sprang to his feet. Their axes swung wide arcs, weaving complex patterns in the air, now rarely meeting as each man chose to dodge blows instead of block. In the background there was the crash of stone; between them, Ajax and Jeorge had broken the castle walls, and soldiers and Whitewings, lead by Palla and Camus, flooded into the gap.

"Damn you!" Hector shouted and charged. "You're dead now, bastard!"

"Never," said Michalis flatly. The battle ground, already scorched and pitted, gained new scars as their weapons met, a boom and the sound of clanging metal sounding out with every blow and parry.

Hector's stance grew ever wearier, his blows fading in strength, in speed. He seemed bewildered by Michalis; every cut he took seemed to have no effect, even as the blood streamed down his face and his armor tore, he fought as fierce and strong as ever, the pain only strengthening him.

Their battle raged for hours. Soldiers of both sides drew close as they moved across the battlefield, trying to twist the balance in favor of either man, but their contest formed an invisible wall that none could penetrate, not Palla, not Camus, not even Ajax. Greater and greater bolts of lightning stabbed at the battlefield, fires sprouting up and dotting the battle. One burst struck Hector's own walls, breaking open another whole.

Every blow Michalis struck grew stronger, stronger, his heart thumping until it and the rush of blood in his veins, the sweet savage song of adrenaline filling his being. Yes, yes, yes, _yes_ this was _it._ No more pretense, no more justification, no more holding back. Now, in this moment, Michalis, battered, bloodstained, was truly, fully, only himself, safe in the knowledge that this was _right._

And slowly, slowly, Hector was forced back. Every exchange made him retreat, put him on the run. Each burst of lightning was shrugged off, intercepted by stroke of Hauteclere. Hector roared and bellowed and charged, each blow slamming into Michalis with every ounce of might he could still summon. It had no effect, it appeared, but to drive him deeper into his cold, focused, unstoppable rage. Michalis made no sound above a low growl, and the blood of every fresh cut was tasted.

Something, beyond the anger and adrenaline of battle and the weariness of fighting so long, crept into Hector. An unfamiliar feeling, that he believed he had banished long ago. Fear. For so long he thought that he had to fear no man, but what stood before him, tireless, implacable, was no man. He blocked another blow of Michalis' axe, desperately, to tired and clumsily to defend against the following strike.

It bit deeply into his leg, blood spurting out as he sagged to his knees. He looked up, panicked, unable to see the sun past looming figure of Michalis.

Hauteclere came down a final time, cleaving helm and head in twain, cutting down to the torso. Michalis watched Hector fall from his knees as he pulled back his axe, panting heavily. He let the blade rest against the ground, leaning back and inhaling deeply, shutting his eyes. The pleasure, the glorious inner glow, of such a fight would not fade quickly, but he fought to keep the smile from his face. In battle he could let loose but outside it was… it was…

He breathed in deeply again, steadying himself. Control. That was what he had to remember. _Control,_ always. Strength and power followed control of the self…

That had been one of mother's favorite sayings, usually accompanied by a blow from either her or father. On bad days they would hit Minerva instead, or use one of their infinity of cruel ploys to mock her… preferences. That had always seemed to hurt him more. Physical pain was a surmountable thing, eventually. He shuddered, treacherous memory striking.

But once again, they had been right about something. Control was the cornerstone of his being, with the strength that followed…

He looked towards the fort, saw his forces approach with Camus and Palla at the lead.

"It is done, milord," the knight said as he drew closer. "As per your orders…" He looked faintly worried, or perhaps disturbed, but Michalis ignored it.

"We will remain here and occupy it," he said. "It is in a good position to further our assault. Palla, once I and Camus leave for Altea you are in charge."

The Whitewing nodded and bowed, and Michalis walked into the castle, picking a room at random and promptly falling asleep.

Camus sat on a boulder thrown up by he and Hector's fight, removing the last of his armor until he wore only his loose jerkin and undergarments. Holding Gradivus across his lap he pulled out a cleaning cloth and polish, and set to work removing the grime and blood of battle.

Jeorge sauntered up a moment later. "You fought very well today," he said, taking a seat next to him.

"As did you," Camus nodded and replied without looking up. "Your skill is quite admirable. Surprisingly so."

"Hmm? Now what would that mean?" Jeorge tilted his head to the side.

"Such skill takes training and dedication. Some things I don't associate with you, I must admit."

"Not all of us have all the time in the world to spend sparring and training." He grinned easily. "You just love to be out there on the grounds, don't you… with the Whitewings of course. "Sparring" day in and day out," his smile took on a lascivious quality, "The human body in motion is a beautiful thing to watch, is it not?"

"They are the best warriors in Macedon, aside from milord and milady themselves," he replied stiffly, blushing despite himself.

"Sure, sure," he shrugged. "That's a logical reasoning. But, perhaps, not the only one…" he laughed softly.

"It is the only one," he turned his attention to one of the side blades of the spear, still not looking up.

"Really? Never even a thought? I swear I'm the only normal one around here…" he glanced sidelong at the knight, rolling his eyes. So much for his manners.

"Normal?" the knight scoffed. "I'd call you many things, normal is not among them."

"Yes, normal. Normal in that I have passion, desire, normal things that normal human thinking breathing feeling beings have. Not some cold statue of a man, hollow to the soul."

"You mistake me, Jeorge. I do have my share of passions, for my duty, my obligations…" he scrubbed at a patch of dried blood.

"For Lord Michalis…?" he raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly and suddenly intrigued.

"No," Camus said simply as Jeorge sat back, disappointed. "I care for him only as who I must serve and protect. So I do care deeply, with passion if you would like to call it that. But it is not your style of passion."

"My style…?" the archer looked at Camus with peculiar eyes, at once piercing and uncaring.

"Yes. Superficial, brief, false…"

"An interesting opinion," he laughed lightly. "I don't see it that way, but then again I'd hardly act like I do if I did."

"Mm. It's no real concern of mine, I suppose. What surprises me, or perhaps confuses me, is that you can be such a warrior as you are with an attitude like yours. Even with a natural talent it takes years of training to reach that degree of aptitude."

"Huh…" Jeorge blinked, rolling his shoulders back. "I suppose you don't know that much about me, do you? My past, at least."

"I suppose not. We've never taken too much time to talk."

"Don't sound so disappointed, Camus, you're making me feel bad…"

"I'm not, don't worry yourself."

"Ah, good to know. Anyways… well perhaps you're right. I probably wouldn't have become a soldier of any sort if I'd had a choice."

"What happened?" he scrubbed at a particularly stubborn fleck of grime.

"I was made a priest, to one of the old Macedonian gods. Apollo. They teach you archery there, along with all the rites and such. It's where I discovered all my… tastes," he smiled lazily. "How I like to live my life."

"That doesn't sound particularly priestly to me," Camus remarked, voice tinged with incredulity.

"Ah, I forget you're not a native…" he looked up, expression lost in recollection. "The Macedonian gods are quite a bit different from Naga. Far less orderly and uptight. Mine particularly- Apollo is a very loose god. It was one giant orgy half the time." he gave another salacious smile. "Training and toning the body for good use the other half. And learning the ways of the bow was a large part of that, so that's where my skill comes from… I ended up here when my talents were noticed. Not just a good aim, but for… mmm, subterfuge, sabotage, espionage, assassination, all that. Talking too…" he laughed quietly, half easy, half despairing. "The old queen discovered me. She appreciated my skill with the tongue, to be certain."

"Corrupt from the start, then…" Camus mused.

"Mmm… that's a comment with barbs in it. And which deserves to be finished, or explained…" he looked pointedly at the knight, who still stared fixedly at his lance.

"Really?" he replied tonelessly.

"Yes," he nodded, folding one leg over the other and leaning back slightly. "I'd rather you at least be honest with me. No more half veiled comments of disapproval."

"Do you now…" the cloth wiped away a patch of dirt, exposing shining metal, pure and clean. "Very well then. I do not care much for you Jeorge, for any number of reasons. And it is ironic that you speak of honesty, when you lie with every other breath you take."

"A man takes a breath many times a minute, and I don't believe I've lied to you yet…" he laughed lightly.

"No," Camus shook his head with surprising fervor. "Not like that. Even now you twist my words, as you always do. You don't lie with facts. You lie with manners, with attitude and action, take people and make them puppets. You twist and squirm and every thing you do is a _game._ Michalis and Minerva are but a game to you, the man and woman you should serve with all your heart and loyalty… you don't care a damn for them. Your own princess, another one of your dalliances. Your own king, a means to an end. And their mother before them, a pawn in her game, a _willing_ one," his voice took on a biting, strident quality, before slipping back into stern disapproval, "For your own gain and privilege. For some sick hedonistic satisfaction…"

"Not at all, Camus dear… you're too rigid by half, don't you know that? I pick up and drop things easily, I'll admit, though I try and do as little harm in the process as possible… But you miss so much, Camus, don't you see? So inflexible… the mind has to twist to see every side of life."

"I do not need to see everything, only what is right. Your words are only meant to excuse your sin…"

"So you think you are perfect then?"  
"No man is perfect. But I'll gladly take the blame for my mistakes, and atone for them. You merely ignore and justify them, letting your crimes slide from you. You live with no consequences to your actions, and thus you will do anything. There is nothing limiting you. Keeping you from the edge of darkness."

Jeorge considered this for a long time. "Have you ever had a vision, Camus? A premonition?" he said at last, voice distant and thoughtful.

"What?" the knight looked taken aback. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Back in my days as a priest, they taught us such things. I didn't quite have the knack for them, but I could learn the attitude well enough…"

"Explain yourself," Camus said sharply. "This seems irrelevant."

"You can only see darkness from the light, Camus. Only what's right if you've considered everything that may be wrong. Your principles are not clarity, Camus, they merely remove complexity. There's the appearance of truth, perhaps, but in the end there's only blindness."

"So you think I am a fool," Camus said coldly.

"Hardly," Jeorge shook his head. "I know the facts of your past… you've bent your principles to do the right thing before. In fact you still do it now. It's only the guilt you feel afterwards that holds you back, I should think…"

"Explain," he turned to face the archer now, eyes narrowed but voice tinged with interest.

"Take today, for example. You lied to Michalis and disobeyed his orders. He was distracted by his battle with Hector and you took that chance to let the townspeople escape."

"You mistake me. I would never, not in one thousand years, go against my lord-"

"The evidence begs to differ."

"Fine then. Michalis is not his father, not the emperor of Dolhr. He is a lord worth my loyalty, to the bitter end. The error was not in my principles, but how I applied them."

"The fact still remains that you disobeyed his orders."

"Because I do not believe that milord, in truth, wanted what he said he did. I… I cannot put it into words, not precisely. All I can say is that he is a good man, if a broken one. It is my job then, as his knight, to serve and protect him, and guide him as best I can. I think it would have weighed heavy on him, if his orders were carried out exactly as he asked…"

Jeorge laughed suddenly, an annoyingly infectious sound. "You bend far better than I gave you credit for, as much as your loathe to admit it… Don't mistake me either, Camus. I've used and been used, tricked and been tricked- I live on the knife's edge and my life's a river… twist and bend and flow, that's the way of things for me. But just as you, for all your principle, can every so often disobey your lord, don't think I'm without my own loyalty and dedication."

"What do you fight for?" Camus sounded more curious than annoyed now, setting down his spear. Gradivus shone pristinely in the last sunlight of the day.

"Now that's a question more complicated than I'm ready to answer. But, what I fight _for_ aside," his voice became ever so slightly more serious, "rest assured that I fight _with_ you, by your side, and Minerva's and Michalis', and all the others in our little circle of trust. For what it is worth, you have my promise that you needn't worry about my loyalty."

"You don't fight for your own King and Queen?" Suspicion crept into his voice again.

"No," he admitted matter of factly, "but I do fight _with,_ and if that's not the same as your principles then I should think its similar enough to understand. Meet me halfway, Camus. I'll fight with you all as you fight for your causes, but be willing to bend and admit it. I think your own goals will be better served if you do."

"Minerva and Palla have already spoken to me, Jeorge," realization and annoyance entered his voice. "I am aware of and willing to follow your plans, and if that was the ultimate point of this conversation you should not have wasted your time… "

"Well in all honesty it was the main purpose. But I certainly don't feel our time was wasted, mine at least. In fact I think I understand you a bit better, dear Camus, and that's something very valuable." He rose, stretching out an arm. "Still, it seems you're done with me for now… I'll let you be."

"Why?" Camus asked, also rising.

"Mm? Oh…" he smiled infuriatingly. "Any number of reasons…"

Several weeks later, Camus rode beside Michalis on their way to Altea. It spoke to how well his horse had been trained that it did not spook at the presence of Ajax beside him. Only he and Michalis had left the Dolhrian fort once Minerva had arrived. Michalis did not believe in taking a large retinue on his rare diplomatic sorties. If he and the other lord could not work out peace between the two of them, then to him there was not point in bringing along extra bodies. Camus only accompanied because he refused to allow his lord to go without any protection, and it truth Michalis hardly needed that. Camus would be the first to admit his lord was a better warrior than he, but his duty to protect him at all costs remained.

"Do you believe Minerva will be alright in my absence?" Michalis asked suddenly.

"The army remains with her, and I am sure that Jeorge and the Whitewings will keep close watch over her. Besides, she is a strong and capable woman. I can think of little harm that would come to her in the short time that we are gone," Camus smiled slightly, reassuringly.

"I know she will be safe, physically. But I worry…" his expression was unreadable.

"About what, milord?"

"My sister has always been the one I trust most… who else could I put my faith in like I do in her?"

"Do you have doubts to my loyalty, milord?" Worry and tension quickly entered Camus' bearing. "I swear to you, you have no cause-"

"Calm yourself, Camus," Michalis replied shortly. "I have no reason no nor ever to question you. But I have always trusted Minerva in everything and now… It feels wrong to even say it," he growled softly in frustration, "but I cannot deny the doubt that has entered my mind. Some of her actions… she has gone behind my back, not… defied me, but stepping dangerously close to that. Even such a small possibility of her betrayal disturbs me. I cannot help but wonder if old deeds are catching up with me…" he trailed off, looking into the distance where the Altean castle could faintly be seen through the trees. They traveled along a smaller side road, away from notice. Technically they would have diplomatic immunity now that they were in Altea, but it was better to be safe.

Camus considered his words in silence for a long time before replying. "It is difficult for a king to trust," he said at last. "But at the same time he must, even if it is only in a very few… no king, no matter how strong or wise, can make every decision in the kingdom. He must allow those he trusts to act on their own, knowing that they have what is best for him and his kingdom in mind. Even if Lady Minerva has not told you everything, or if you have not told her anything, I doubt that either of you would act in a way meaning to hurt the other."

Michalis nodded slowly, "Yes… but, even so…"

"It is difficult, milord, without a doubt. But neither of you can fault the other."

Michalis fell silent again afterwards, until they reached the castle. There they were greeted by Marth himself, dressed in ceremonial blue armor and robes, decorated in gold.

"Michalis," he smiled warmly and bowed, "I am so glad you could make it."

"Thank you for meeting with me, Lord Marth," he and Camus dismounted, each bowing back.

"Of course," Marth replied, his expression turning somber. "I hope that today we may… we may avoid the troubles ahead. I think there is hope for peace between us…"

"We will see," Michalis said noncommittally, expression blank. "The stables are prepared for Ajax?"

Marth nodded. "Yes, certainly. I'm sure he's tired from the journey…" he reached out to place a hand on the beast's head gingerly, prompting a low, rumbly growl. Marth exclaimed and jumped slightly, holding his hand to his chest and laughing. "I forgot," he shook his head self deprecatingly, "they never seem to get along with me… Oh well. If you know the way to the stables you can take him there yourself," his looked meaningfully, not unkindly, at Michalis, then turned to Camus and smiled warmly again. "Sir Camus, it's an honor to have you here. If you don't mind leaving us alone while we talk, many of my squires are eager to meet you."

"They are?" the knight asked, slightly surprised.

"Of course. Your reputation as the finest knight in the West still stands, after all."

Camus smiled slightly in return. "I see… it would be a privilege to meet with Altea's cavaliers as well. Although, no offense meant my lord, but I am hesitant to leave my king alone…"

Marth shook his head. "None taken. I completely understand, and it seems you live up to your reputed dedication. But I will take no guards with me either. It will be only me and Michalis in discussion, you have my promise."

"Your own reputation for honesty is great, milord," Camus bowed. "I will leave you and milord to talk in private."

"Thank you, Sir Camus. Michalis, I will wait outside here for you until Ajax is settled. Take your time."

Michalis nodded and fixed Marth with a long, considering look. His body seemed to tense slightly, hand shifting as if to draw his axe. If Marth noticed, he made no movement in response, and a slow, drawn out moment followed before Michalis extended his hand stiffly. "Thank, Lord Marth. I will be with you shortly."

The two men shook hands, and Michalis lead Ajax away to the stables. Camus followed for a few steps before Michalis turned to him and shook his head. "Leave me be for the moment, Camus…"

"That is a grave risk, milord. I don't know that I should allow this," he replied warily.

"I have nothing to fear here. Marth would not stab me in the back like that. He is weak… too weak to take the opportunity in front of him," his hands clenched and released subtly, unconsciously.

"Very well, milord. I agree, at least in that I do not believe his majesty would harm you here and now milord," he said meaningfully. After a moment's more hesitation he too left, let into the castle by Marth.

Michalis went on alone to the stables. Once the dragon had been cared for and fell asleep, he turned his gaze around the area, seemingly empty of other people. But she should have been here by now… a gentle rustle came from a nearby bush.

"...Maria," he sighed deeply. "I don't have time for this foolishness." He walked over to the bush reaching in and plucking out his youngest sister from the bush. Several years Minerva's junior and almost she and Michalis' complete opposite, picking her up felt like no weight at all. Such a fragile person…

Michalis tensed slightly, his other hand curling briefly into a fist. Closing his eyes momentarily, he forced back the memories. Here and now was not a time for such painful recollections… that was the past, and would never happen again.

"Aww," she pouted gently. "You didn't let me surprise you."

"My heart couldn't stand the shock," he allowed himself a small smile and set her down. Attempted to, at least; she hung onto his arm and he reluctantly lifted her back up, resting her on his shoulder. "Or what if I had never been able to find you? I didn't have all day to be looking for you."

She shrugged and smiled sweetly. "You would've spent as long as you needed finding me. I know it."

"I have important business to be about, Maria. I don't have all that much time."

"I know you have important business, you're here to visit me," she giggled softly. "And don't worry, you'll have enough time with cousin Marth."

He sighed again, but couldn't help and laugh a little. A strangely unfamiliar feeling… "Cousin Marth?" he asked. "That is new…"

"Let's go sit in a tree," she replied. Michalis nodded and walked over to a nearby tree, climbing up one handed as he held onto her.

"You didn't answer the question," he noted.

"Oh, I guess it just fits," she shrugged again. "I've been living here so long…" her cheer faded briefly, before she smiled again. "It's so fun here! But I do miss home…"

Michalis smiled fractionally, tinged with sadness. "You'll be home again soon enough, Maria, just awhile longer," he said, and felt a pang in his heart worse than any wound on the battlefield. "Once… all this is over, you can come home and be with us again. Once it's safe again, I promise you'll never have to leave."

"I know," she said, still smiling, but more somber now. "It's just been such an awful long time…"

"I know," he said softly. "I'm sorry. But the wait will be over soon."

"Hmm…" she scooted down from Michalis' shoulder, swinging her legs from the branch. "Tell me about home big brother. What's it like there right now?"

"Oh…" Michalis trailed off for a long time, thinking. "It is… it is better than when you left it. Minerva and I are doing everything we can to make it the best we can… I cannot wait for you to return and see it with your own eyes."

"Why not now?" she demanded.

"Because it's not quite ready for you yet… But Minerva and I will make it perfect."

"I know," she said quietly. "You're a good king but… Marth doesn't tell me much, but I hear things… a-are you going to be okay brother?"

"Of course, Maria," he said, forcing a reassuring tone. "There's nothing that will stop me."

"You're so strong brother, and you've always kept me safe. But… m-maybe it's worth the risk for me to go back."

"No, Maria, you can't."

"But-"

"No!" he sighed deeply, tensing briefly before resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "No… You've been hurt by that place too much, Maria. It's better than it was, but it is still too much the same. One day, when I've made it all better…" he forced another smile. "You can come back. And you'll never have to leave again."

"Okay…" she said quietly, eyes watering slightly before she hurriedly rubbed away the moisture. "Tell me more about it anyways… I still miss it."

Again, he hesitated. Sitting here the rest of his life felt faintly… off, as if there was some shame in speaking of it. "What would you like to know…?" he asked eventually.

"Hmm…" she considered thoughtfully. "Uh… has Jeorge told you any more good stories?"

Michalis couldn't stop himself from laughing a little. "Not so many these days… but I know he misses his little sister. We all do. Our little family doesn't feel whole with you missing."

She rolled her eyes, punching his shoulder lightly. "Well that's your own fault big brother."

"Oh how it pains me…" he laughed, the sound feeling a little more natural. "A little peace and quiet, a little time to myself… it's just awful."

"Liar," she giggled. "I know you miss me the most."

"Ah, you see right through me. Mmm… Sir Jeorge isn't here to tell you any stories today, but Camus is…"

"But he's the most boring," she giggled softly and faked a frown.

"I'm sure he'd still be delighted to see you. You should go and visit him," picking her up smoothly he hopped down from the tree, landing in a crouch and setting her down.

"Aww, are you just trying to get rid of me?"

"Only for a moment…" he smiled sadly, and knelt down by her. "There's nothing more important than seeing you, but I do need to speak with Marth. I'll come and see you again after, time permitting."

"You'd better," she smiled and hugged him tightly. "Maybe you me and Marth and Camus and everyone can spend time together… you two used to talk all the time."

He hugged back, closing his eyes and shuddering faintly. "Those were different times…" he rose, feeling another sharp pang inside his heart. "Today… today is going to come a little closer to bringing you back home, Maria. I promise."

"Goodbye, big brother…" she hugged him again gently.

"Goodbye, little sister. I promise it won't be so long until we see each other again," he hugged back before walking back to the castle. What a troubled, troubled world. Hardly a good thing in it, and such as there were still brought you pain. But he would make it all work, somehow. Much suffering and many losses still lay ahead, but those were trivial before the end goal. Macedon would once again be a great nation, his sisters would be safe, and perhaps once this war was finally over he could banish this bloodlust inside him…

That was doubtful, however. It had been ingrained far too deeply within him, was too much a part of him.

He spared a glance back towards Maria. Never, never, would he be his father and mother's son. They had made him who he was, he could admit that, but he would never be a man in their image. He was only himself, and no man nor woman nor force on earth could bind him, dictate his actions. Not from a grave he himself had put them in. He would only be himself…

And that man would be the greatest king, greatest _emperor,_ that had ever lived.

Marth waited for him in a meeting room adjacent to the throne room. Differently decorated than the Macedonian style, but equally as opulent as what was favored by Michalis' own nobleman. Marth himself was a humble man, but he went along with they style of his culture. Weak, then, allowing himself to subsume to the ways of others. Yet, it was difficult to think of him as truly weak. His strength and skill in arms was legendary, if nothing else. And he ruled Altea well, for all that he thought too small, cared too easily and deeply.

He sat alone in the room, rising and bowing as Michalis entered. Caeda had not joined them today, it seemed. Marth evidently took his promise that it would be only the two of them seriously. Even so Michalis spared a glance around the room. Jeorge had once spent some time instructing him in how to read a room, look for secret doors and hiding places at merely a glance. The search turned up nothing, unsurprisingly; Marth's honesty was as or more renowned than his skill in battle.

Michalis bowed back respectfully before taking a seat. "Lord Marth," he intoned formally. "Thank you once again for meeting with me today."

"Lord Marth?" he chuckled pleasantly. "I thought you might be catering to Camus' tastes before, but it's just us now. We can speak as friends and equals, or at least I hope we can."

"Our business today is grave," Michalis pointed out. "I don't see the purpose of treating it flippantly."

"Yes, it is," Marth's expression went somber. "But that doesn't change anything about you or I… Funny, that," he smiled slightly, "it's like living a dual life. Myself and myself as king are different people."

"I am always a king," Michalis replied. "That is my identity, at all times."

"True," Marth nodded. "But we were both princes before. We've always been royalty, and I never called you lord, Michalis, and you didn't use to call me that either…"

"Those were different times," Michalis said coldly. "And these times are better times."

"Good things can come of hard times… that's what you always said wasn't it?" he smiled slightly, "When things were at their worst. "Great things may come of suffering." Well, my version is slightly nicer but its still the same sentiment. A great deal of the people I'm close to, it's because I've fought and struggled by their side."

"I never fought by your side," Michalis retorted, "and you were no part of my struggle… or the least part of it."

"That… that is true," Marth looked down, ashamed. "I did not do what I could have, old friend. I'm sorry for that, from the depths of my heart. I…" he trailed off, squeezing one hand with the other.

"Yet…" Marth looked up suddenly, surprised, as Michalis continued. "Yet, I can think of few others, perhaps no others, outside Macedon, who offered even the aid you did. Even among those in Macedon, I can think of no others who gave their hand in help so willingly, with so much risk. Defying my father… it could have jeopardized our kingdoms' alliance."

"It was well worth the risk," he smiled reassuringly. "Empathy can be a great strength, even for a king."

Michalis nodded noncommittally.

"And with luck it will pay off…" Marth said.

"I thought better of you than that," Michalis growled softly, suddenly tense.

"N-no! I… i should not have made it sound so callous, it is truly not like that at all. I'm sorry once again," he sighed and laughed self deprecatingly. "I'm making a fool of myself so far, aren't I?"

"Not more so than usual," a faint smile tinged Michalis' mouth. "Don't worry yourself, Marth… we haven't gotten to the heart of the matter yet."

Marth went quiet and looked down once again. "No… we have not… Before we being that, though, one last thing…"

"What is it?" he asked.

"If… if things do not go well today, then you have safe passage out of the kingdom, I promise."

"I would expect so. We are both men of honor."

"Yes…" he nodded slowly. "If we must fight, and by Naga it pains me to admit that's even a possibility, then we'll fight with honor. And maybe even give peace another chance to come about…" he trailed off hopefully.

"No," Michalis shook his head. "I won't give you false hope, out of respect for you. If it comes to war today, then it is _war._ You know me, old friend," a hint of something, bitterness or sarcasm or pain, entered the words, "and when have I ever been known to leave a fight unfinished?"

"Never…" Marth looked despairing. "I always used to admire that about you… you had a strength to do things I couldn't. Things I was too weak for… I just never imagined that would be turned against me."

Michalis hesitated, so fractionally that it not doubt went unnoticed, forced his voice to remain calm and cold. "It very well may be, Marth. I am unflinching in my determination to have the world at my feet. The more you resist, the more pain I can and will bring against you and yours. Macedon must be strong, its empire must be strong. Do you understand what that means, Marth? It means that beyond today there can be no mercy. Each and every kingdom that resists must be made and example, and if I must do that by blood, mine or yours or your people's, then it shall be by blood. I will be honest and blunt with you today, Marth, because there is no softening the blow that will come later. That is how it will be. That is how I must do things. Any mercy beyond this final chance will one day be an invitation towards revolt against me… that cannot happen. And so if "things do not end well", as you say, if they come to _war,_ then that is how I will wage my conquest, and that is how I will rule you, not as a willing ally but a conquered _subject._ Without end, without mercy. Do you understand, Marth? Even after you are conquered, if your knights turn against me I will kill them. If Caeda turns against me I will kill her. If you turn against me I will kill you. Do you _understand_?"

The other king kept his head bowed, unable to meet his gaze. "I do… Michalis. Michalis…" his voice trailed off into sorrow.

"What is it?" Michalis snapped.

"If… if it comes to war, today, take Maria with you."

"You will get nowhere playing to my pity…"

"I know, Michalis!" he looked up sharply, not yelling but voice shaking and fierce. "I would never use your sister against you, you must know that. I took her in for her sake but also for yours… And I would never, not even if it came to war, do something so despicable as use her against you. It would be no safer for her here anymore, and so she should go back with you, where you will be there to protect her."

"I know you are an honest man. But I can let no possible plot against me. She will remain here until Macedon is finally, truly at peace, or she will be moved to some other sanctuary."

"Michalis…" Marth's voice shook heavily now. "I heard her crying last night, and the night before, and before, and so many others, because she misses her home… you and all her family. She deserves to return there."

"Do you know she called you cousin…" Michalis said bitterly, now looking down as well. "What a twisted world this is…"

"I'm inclined to agree," Marth chuckled sadly, shaking his head. A few tears could be seen in his eyes.

"I will take her back with me, should it come to that," Michalis said after a long moment of silence, some of the edge gone from his voice. He didn't know that he could ever be truly gentle, but he could stop his forced harshness, if only for a moment. "Thank you, Marth."

He nodded dumbly, then said with quiet fervor. "I understand, Michalis. But I don't care."

"What?" Michalis looked at him sharply.

"I don't care. I said, _I do not care,_ " tears still flowed from his eyes but his voice held steady. "I don't care what you will do. I don't care what lengths you will go to. I don't care who or how much you hurt," his fists clenched as if in pain as he carried on. "I don't care if I must give my life to keep Altea free. And it will hurt me worse than death if my friends and allies, if Caeda herself must sacrifice herself to keep us free…" he trailed off, whole body shaking now, before rallying himself and carrying on. "You will never cow me, Michalis, because I have known you all your life. I know the great man you can be, and I know the mockery of that you seem to be now. I will never bow and scrape and kneel before a monstrous shadow of a man like that. For my own people and for Macedon as well, if you are the tyrant you are quick becoming, I will put an end to you. For my sake, for Altea's, for Macedon's, for the sake of your sisters and for the friend I once had, _I will stop you,_ " he shook, panting heavily.

"Monstrous…" Michalis said softly, half to himself. "How dare…" he growled, voice rising, "how dare you call me a monster?"

"I fail to see how you are not, now…" Marth said, pity and sorrow mixed in his voice.

"In your hall there is the portrait of a king…" Michalis growled deeper, hands curling into vice grips that dented and splintered the wood of the armrest. Marth tilted his head, suddenly confused, and Michalis kept on, seething cold anger in each syllable.

"Do you know the one?" he asked, bitingly. "It is in the very center of your hall. A grand portrait, befitting of a hero. Do you know the one?"

"I… I think I do, but…" confusion overcame Marth.

"That king," his voice continued to rise steadily, "was no king, but an _emperor._ An emperor, not born to his empire, but he made one for himself," he rose to his feet now, head and shoulders above Marth, imposing, bristling in rage.

"That _Emperor,_ " he nearly shouted now, "waded through seas of blood!"

"That _Emperor,_ in his conquests, killed thousands!"

"That _Emperor,_ wiped cities and kingdoms so completely off the map that we now know them only as places that have been conquered."

"That _Emperor,_ " his voice fell, low and menacing, as Marth watched in fear and awe and confusion, "was and is revered. A _hero._ Not only here. Not only in Dolhr, or in Talys, or Gra, or Grust, but across the _world._ "

"That emperor…" his voice fell again, to almost normal levels. "That emperor was named Iskander."

"That emperor was the ruler of Macedon."

"Iskander fought for power and glory and wealth and lust of all kinds, and he is now a hero. And I, in my own time, am called a monster by the man who but moments ago called me a friend. What sort of world is this…"

"I always hated Iskander," Marth said, surprisingly calm. "From the moment I learned about him from my tutors, he seemed wrong for me. And it seemed wrong to me that he was so respected, so revered, for what he did. And I remember thinking that only a power mad fool would wish to be like him."

"Don't you dare say it…" the anger and tremble returned to Michalis' tone.

"I must, old friend, and I do still call you old friend, I must say it. I heard your father say that he wished to be a new Iskander, and in that moment I knew with certainty that he was an evil man…But he was steeped in his ways, Michalis. Please, old friend, turn from this path. Turn to peace. You have time to change and be the man I know you can be. The king I know you can be."

"Surrender, then. Surrender and serve me, not as a conquered subject but a willing one. And we may work together, and I do not have to do this…"

"No," Marth shook his head firmly. "I can't surrender. I want to be allies, more than anything else, but neither will I serve you."

"There can't be peace for me, you must understand that. The beginnings of my war with Dolhr are already here, the first battles have been waged. And there are other kingdoms that have noticed my aggression… things have been done that I cannot ignore and forget."

Marth went quiet, searching in his eyes for something, hesitating for a moment that stretched out thin and tense to eternity. "I'm sorry, Michalis…" he shook his head once again. "But I won't help you conquer the world. Perhaps though…" he hesitated again, something weighing on his mind, "perhaps I can help you defend this kingdom, from a war that has already started…"

"No," Michalis said flatly. "I have offered you as much compromise and mercy as I can. If we are to be allies, then you must be behind me wholeheartedly, with no reservations."

"This is it, then…" Marth looked in shock and despair. "This is the start of war between us?"

"Between our kingdoms," Michalis corrected.

"We are kings, Michalis. We are our kingdoms. Could… could you really kill me?"

Time stood still for Michalis. Thoughts, too fast to be consciously recognized, raced through his mind. Could he, could he…he felt his hands clench and his muscles tense, and in the background of it all was the song of his bloodlust. The blurring thoughts settled into an old mantra, phrases repeated in his mind many times over his life…. There was no vice so sweet as blood… No thing on earth… no lust, no gluttony, no passion of the flesh, no pleasant poison of the mind.

Jeorge fancied that he knew the hedonist's lifestyle, but he'd never found the true vice at the heart of it all.

He could feel it, the blood, pounding and pumping through his veins, each heartbeat an earthquake drumbeat sending out waves of it. He almost fancied he could feel the blood in Marth's own veins…

Let it bleed and flow and mingle… the old mantra carried on, repeating… it flows so smooth, so easy… let it all bleed… there is no vice like blood…

Control, control at all times, _he knew this._ He almost… here and now… in this moment… still so fresh in his mind, the few good things… he almost… if… if he could… if this, then…

He shook himself subtly, the thoughts collapsing into fragments as he met his old friend's gaze.

He blinked, straightened himself. "I do not know," was all he could manage.

"Then… it does not have to be today," relief flooded Marth's voice, still heavy with sorrow.

"No…"

"Go, then," he said, not unkindly. "Go and think… please, Michalis, consider this carefully. And with any hope…"

"We will see, Marth," he said finally, and left.

"I need to leave, Minerva," Michalis said, standing on the walls of a captured Dolhrian fort. It was three weeks since he had returned from meeting Marth, and still no decision presented itself. For now, the war on Dolhr provided enough to busy him… his coat draped from his shoulders, leaving his chest bare, and he rubbed at one of the bandages wrapping around his torso. He'd pushed himself hard these last few battles, fought with reckless abandon; it had payed off, with most of the border now solidly under Macedonian control, but it had almost cost him.

"Why?" his sister replied, leaning against the battlements and looking out to the horizon and the setting sun. She wore her own cloak in the same manner, bound across the front to protect her modesty.

"I simply must," he answered shortly.

"We need you here. A king must lead his country, brother. If you are not here we may not fare so well as we have…"

"Do not lecture me on what a king must do," he grimaced. "I am well aware of the duties ahead of me. But our foothold is solid enough you can afford to lose me for a few days, perhaps weeks. I trust that you and Camus can lead our troops ably, and that the Whitewings may keep you safe in my absence."

"Then tell me where you must go. Explain why you can simply disappear in the middle of a war you called for."

"I will return, rest assured of that. Trust me when I say that I would not leave if I did not absolutely have to…"

"Then just tell me why, brother," she turned to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I can't be here to support you if you hide your intentions from me. I need to keep you safe as much you need to keep me safe. Tell me where you will go and I'll come with you. No matter what it is, if we stand together there's nothing that can stop us."

"This is one thing I must do without you…" he shook his head, "and Macedon needs you here. If it cannot have a king then it must have its queen."

"You will only be gone for a few weeks… You will still be king, brother. I don't quite understand what you mean."

"Only that there should be a ruler in my absence, and I trust no one but you to do that," he replied flatly.

"Very well… I still wish to know where your journey will take you."

"Do you trust me Minerva?" he asked suddenly.

"Of course," she replied a shade quickly, "but that doesn't change the fact that we should never keep things from each other."

"Is that so?" he asked, tone chilling heavily.

"What do you mean…?" her own tone and posture went guarded, wary, and she seemed to edge away slightly. Doubtfully would anyone else have noticed, but Michalis knew his sister too well.

"I have the terrible suspicion that you are hiding something from me…" he looked down now, gripping on the battlements tightly. "It pains me to even say it, but that is the truth."

"And I would have you be nothing but honest with me, brother. Do… do you truly suspect me?" she leaned against the wall as well, gaze turning out to the horizon and away from him, neither able to meet the other's eyes.

"Yes…" his voice sounded weak, for him, the faintest of edge hesitance to it.

"What of?" she asked, with hollow calm.

"Not suspect, in fact." he replied. "Know." He breathed in deeply, staring intently at the horizon. "Camus confirmed it."

"He did?" she gripped tighter on the stones, anger modulating her voice.

"Yes… I told him of my doubts. And he said…" he went silent, looking for something in the distance. Some answer, perhaps. Minerva remained quiet, eyes fixed on that same distant point.

"He said that I should trust you, and believe you have my and my kingdom's best intentions at heart," he finished at last.

She relaxed, marginally. "And what is it that he confirmed for you?"

"Nothing," he said. "He did not reveal anything to me, only advised me."

"But you said you knew something…" her stance became guarded once more.

"Something you hid from me, yes. But not… something else. I am too paranoid, Minerva, I am slipping in my control, to suspect you, to even think that you of all people would try to harm me…"

"And what is it that I hid, brother? And I swear I'll never do so again… You're right. I would never hurt you, and I will always support you, however I can."

"Palla," Michalis said. "I did not know you two were lovers…"

"You've always known about my… preferences, brother," she held her arm gently, not guarded anymore, but something else. Troubled, perhaps, or if either of them would allow themselves to feel such an emotion, grieving at old wounds. "And it is still difficult for me to speak of it, you know this…"

"But I have put her in harm's way many times, sister, and I also know that it would hurt you dearly to lose her…"

She smiled wryly and shook her head, "She'd never allow you to take her away from my side, even on the battlefield. And I'd rather have her close by where I can watch over and protect her too."

"Have you thought of marriage?" he asked, pushing away from the wall and looking at her.

"Michalis, don't be foolish. That would be far too much-"

"This is my kingdom and you are my sister. The law is as I make it, and if I wish to allow you to be married then it shall be so. The rest of the world already stands against us. And if this turns the kingdom against us as well so be it. Between the two of us there is no force on earth to stop us," he replied firmly.

"Hah… what priest would marry us?" she chuckled and sighed softly. "I'm not sure this one thing is worth throwing down the gauntlet for…"

"Jeorge is a priest, or was," he said dismissively. "If you wish it it shall be done."

She laughed again, loudly now. "By the gods, being married by Jeorge. I don't know if that's worth the price…," she smiled, seeming genuinely happy. "Thank you, brother. This is… thank you," she pursed her lips, blinking rapidly.

He nodded quietly, resting a hand on her shoulder for a moment. "There… there must be a few good things we cling to, in this twisted world."

They remained there in silence for a long while, watching the sky turn brilliant gold and purple, streaked with scars of red, as the sun faded into night.

"I'm going to the oracle at Delphi," he said finally, at near darkness.

"Is that even real?" she glanced at him, incredulous, "I thought that was just a myth, or a child's tale… at the very least something from long ago, no longer here."

"Yes. Jeorge told me of it, some time ago. I was as disbelieving as you, then, but I could tell he told the truth. I will have him guide me there…" he looked out to the horizon once again, searching with the final light of day.

"Take me with you. Or Camus, at least, or someone," she insisted.

"No. Jeorge told me that it must be a personal journey… it sullies the vision, or something like that, if too many others are present."

"Very… very well. But why must you go there? What if what you are shown drives you mad, or kills you, or changes you…"

"Because there's a question I must answer for myself. I can't carry on forward if it remains unsettled."

She nodded in understanding, squeezing his shoulder. "Good luck brother, and come back safe. Come back… as yourself."

"I will, sister. I promise."

Michalis touched his hand to Ajax's side. It came away wet and sticky with blood, as the life force of the beast bled out onto the battlefield. He groaned softly, rage building to a crescendo within his heart, the pounding of the blood in his veins threatening to burst them apart.

"You…" he turned around, strode towards his opponent, barely able to speak. Something, some animal noise, rose from deep inside his gut and he roared. "You!" his axe slammed against the ground, biting in deep and throwing up chunks.

"Traitor!" he bellowed, axe moving in a blurring circle, cutting into the stone again and again as he continued forward. A luckless soldier charged towards him, and lost his head for his efforts.

"I fight for Macedon," came the cold, calm reply, from on dragonback. "As I always have, brother."

"I am Macedon," he growled, casting aside his helmet, bent from his crash to the ground. Blood streamed down one half his face. "I am king and emperor. My word is _law,_ " each word cae haltingly, in between his choking anger, "and in defying me you have defied Macedon, and you will pay a traitor's price for a traitor's crimes."

"Very well then," she nodded, "let us say that I fight for the good of Macedon, and it has become plenty clear that you are not that. You have become your father's son."

A wave of rage and anguish struck Michalis, so strong that it almost forced him back. "You…" his fury grown too strong for shouts, he spoke quietly now, paralyzed in his bloodlust. "You will die today."

Minerva's dragon charged forward, jaws open wide and neck outstretched. Michalis remained still, eyes burning, feeling as if his whole body were on fire, the burn spreading from the terrible, years old scar on his chest. Hauteclere rose up, flashing in the air, unflinching, came down vengefully as Michalis held his ground and cut the head of the beast in twain down the middle.

Minerva's own axe slashed downwards, cutting a glittering arc in the air, but the impact as the body of the dragon collided with Michalis twisted him out of harm's way. He stumbled back, hurriedly raising his guard.

Hopping off the dragon's back as it skidded and fell limp Minerva landed in a crouch then sprang up, slashing wildly at Michalis. He twisted to the side and his axe swept upwards as she dodged his blow in turn. Their weapons continued to blur in complex arcs, never meeting, twisting and dancing around each other, the two combatants perfectly in tune with each other. Finally a subtle flick of Michalis' wrist brought his axe close to her, too close, and she pulled her weapon back sharply, sending up clang and a shockwave as they met.

The hook of her axe caught his haft, pulling him close and he jerked his head forward, slamming it against her nose. Blood spurted forth, splattering his face, and he shoved her back, kicking her in the stomach roughly.

A wild, savage grin spread across his face as he ran his tongue across his lips, his blood and hers mingling. So sweet… some distant part of him, almost outside himself, shuddered, but he ignored it and brought his axe down overhand.

She ducked under, charging forward and tackling him before he could complete the stroke. Lifted off his feet he kicked out sharply, striking her knees and forcing her down, rolling over and kneeing her in the stomach, pushing her away.

She groaned, clutching at her stomach for a brief moment before scrambling away and lashing out with a broad sweep of her axe, the tip catching Michalis' face. He rose to his feet and kept on hacking at her repeatedly. All grace and cunning fled from their contest. Each bled from a dozen wounds and neither cared, neither relented one fraction. Michalis' grin grew broader, broader, furious and manic, as Minerva's expression settled into cold, unbreaking focus. Their axes met, each striking with all their strength, sending up a massive shockwave and-

Michalis looked up at his sister, coughing weakly, a dribble of blood escaping from his lips. She stood above him, one foot on his chest, although it was hardly necessary now to keep him down, holding her axe out to her side and panting heavily.

"It is… over…" she growled.

"Yes," he nodded, struggling to raise even his neck before collapsing back. Hauteclere lay feet away from him, far out of reach. He blinked, feeling strangely weightless. The pain was nothing to him… pain of the body could always be overcome… you only had to… he gasped and arched his back as a spasm of agony ran through him. No… no… control… he settled back, gritting his teeth weakly.

"I did it…" he began weakly, but Minerva pressed her foot down sharply cutting off his air.

"You think I care? You're a monster, Michalis. I did everything I could to help you, restrain you, but it wasn't enough. I… you must… just _die,_ " a tear rolled down her cheek, surprising Michalis.

"Sister," he continued, faint and weak, "I did it all… for you… you, Maria," he coughed up another gob of blood, bitter on his lips and tongue, "you could not be… safe… there was so much pain… I had to be… the shield… to be strong…"

"Brother…" she stepped back slightly but Michalis grabbed hold of her foot and shook his head.

"No… I am… already dying, and you… you are right. I failed, Minerva. In all of it…"

The axe raised up-

`Hauteclere came down upon Minerva, through her neck.

"It had to be," Michalis said, with the strange sensation that he was listening.

Michalis sat upon his throne in Macedon, hands curled tightly around the armrests. Minerva and Palla kneeled before him, in chains, an audience of noblemen and women watching. Camus stood beside him, Gradivus in hand, looking down with eyes closed. Jeorge lounged somewhere behind the throne, bow held leisurely in hand, expression easy going and unreadable

"You know what you are accused of?" Michalis intoned, looking into Minerva's eyes.

"Yes," she replied, perfectly calm. Glancing towards Palla she seemed about to break for a moment, but she shut her eyes and turned back to the throne, meeting Michalis' gaze with nothing but cold anger.

"And do you have any defence to offer?" he asked.

"Nothing that will sway you. I only ask that you spare Palla's life, br- milord… She only followed my orders, and if you let her live she will serve you loyally till the end of your days. I swear it…"

"No," Michalis replied flatly. "If you have no defense to offer then she dies as well. She is just as much a traitor as you."

"Then do it, brother. Do it and know what it will make of you," she spat, glaring.

"I have always known exactly who I am," he said, rising, axe in hand "and that has never, and will never change. I must save what I can, and for that you must die. It has to be."

"Do it," she repeated, growling, "and know what it will make of you."

"No!" Camus strode forward determinedly, spear held at the ready, and planted himself between them. "Milord, I will not allow this to happen. This is your sister, milord, who you have always protected, who you cared for more than anything else. Think, milord, I entreat you, I know this is not you. Not who you should be…"

"Camus…" Michalis sighed, stepping to the side as the glowing arrow streaked through the air.

The knight looked down in shock as the missile tore through him, leaving a gaping, charred whole in his chest, then collapsed to the ground, too stunned to be pained.

Another arrow followed quickly, through Palla's eye, as Jeorge sauntered up to Minerva.

"Jeorge…" she cried, sobbing, "how could you? How… Jeorge I thought I could trust you…" she collapsed, crawling over to Palla's corpse and lying over it, whispering and muttering incoherently.

"Oh Minerva dear…" he sighed. "I could never explain, not even to myself." A third arrow came, piercing her chest, and in moments she was lifeless too.

Michalis turned to face the archer, -

"What the hell are you doing to me?" Michalis roared at the figure before him, shrouded by the choking, fetid, fumes of the deep dark cave, curling around him with heat like steam even as damp chill emanated from the walls.

"Only what you asked for…" the figure replied, walking forwards softly, wrapped in white linens, deep green hair tied in a braid, a golden crown upon her head. "Only what everyone comes here for. To have their minds opened."

"Opened?" he snarled, incredulous, "You have not opened it but twisted it! Broken it… what I saw could not possibly be true!"

"And what makes you think that…?" she asked quietly, golden, ageless eyes looking out from a youthful face.

"I would never do those things! They must be falsehoods! I-I…" he shook and trembled, head twisting back and forth uncontrollably.

"You know that they are the truth, deep down. You know it, Lord Michalis of Macedon…"

"No! You are only a child," he growled, "a fool of a child! Half grown, foolish, believing you know me. You know nothing of me!"

"Only a child?" she tilted her head and laughed softly. "This form is only a choice… Would you listen to me better if i looked like this?" her form shifted, into that of an old, hunched over lady. "Would my truth sound more… truthful if it came from this frame?" her voice cracked and warbled now. "Or perhaps this one?" she shifted again, into a tall, statuesque woman, radiantly beautiful, voice rich and warm.

"No…" she shook her head, turning back to her first, youthful form, "No, I don't think, that would help would it? You may even listen more closely to a child's innocence…"

"You are still a charlatan, no matter which form you take. I am leaving," he turned and walked away, footsteps unsteady.

She seemed to glide across the floor, faster than should be possible, suddenly in front of him. "Don't go, please," she smiled warmly, voice soft and pleasant and familiar, "I don't often get involved, you know. I usually try to let people come to me and otherwise let them alone. But I know I could change so much by talking to you… help so many people…"

"Out. Of. My. Way," he shoved her aside, or at least attempted to. She shifted form again, suddenly, twisting into something pale and huge and monstrous, slamming him back against the floor, and then, as suddenly as the change occured, she appeared to be a young girl once again.

"Why must you be so strong…?" she asked, "I see that drive burning in your mind, like a blazing fire. Why, Michalis?"

"I do not have to answer you…" he struggled to rise but found that he could not, all strength gone from his limbs.

"Please do," she entreated, kneeling beside him, "You must have no fear to speak here, Michalis. This is a place of truth and nothing else."

"Because…" he shuddered deeply and clutched at his harm, "because if not I am nothing. No… worse than nothing. I would be a monster, a murderer, a psychopath. Nothing, except a creature of bloodlust and violence. A vile, despicable man in every way. If I am not strong, if I am weak… then I have failed, utterly. I would be a failure and worse. I would have betrayed everything that matters to me. It would all fall and crumble and I would be… would be some miserable, pathetic wreck, with nothing to his name but foul deeds, a broken man who in life could do naught but break other things in turn. I cannot fail… cannot lose control…" he shook, a single tear falling from his eye.

"You would let your sisters be hurt, if you were weak…" she said softly, placing a gentle hand against his cheek.

"Yes…" he whispered softly, a greater pain inside his chest than he had ever felt before. "I cannot let that… how could I ever?"

"Michalis… what were you in your visions but strong?"

"I…" he trailed off, unable to answer.

"There are other strengths, Michalis. And sometimes there is strength through weakness… through compromise."

"I do not know…" he rose unsteadily, bowed slightly, "Thank you… I must think on this…"

She shook her head and held him back gently, "Don't go yet… do your thinking, and your healing here. If you go back out there… I can't let you be the man in your visions. Stay here. Rest your mind and think…"

He nodded, "Can you heal me…?" he asked, voice weak, "can you show me what path i must take?"

"Your path is only yours," she replied, and smiled warmly. "But here, yes, you can find a better one. Remember Michalis, you are not yet the man in your visions. None of you are, yet. You have time… you are not those things, you did not do those things."

"Yes…" he nodded again, sat back down on the floor.

"Good… rest, Michalis…" she said softly, and he felt sleep and darkness overtake him.


End file.
